


I am

by thatsthefrailtyofgenius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post!Hogwarts, Post!War, drug mention, rape mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:21:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsthefrailtyofgenius/pseuds/thatsthefrailtyofgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hermione is kidnapped and sold to a human trafficking ring, Draco has to be pulled off of the case they've been working together, to chase her around the world and bring her home. Becoming part of civilian life again however, is the least of Hermione's worries, as they're put back in charge of an investigation into a serial killer murdering people and writing threatening messages on their bodies and on walls. Upon figuring out that said killer is specifically targeting Draco, the two must find a way to protect themselves, whilst simultaneously trying to prevent anyone else from getting hurt. But it's not easy, as lines between work and home life continue to blur themselves out, and putting their emotions aside to catch this unknown subject ruining their lives, is far from simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I took this down from fanfiction a few months ago to edit and rewrite it. It was under the title 'Why do I put up with you?'. Its been a very tedious process, and I still don't feel like it's at it's best, but I'm hoping there's something here worth reading.  
> Let me know what you think, and, as ever, thanks.  
> Dee xxx

"She paced back and forth, like fire and like smoke, and when she closed her eyes, she became invisible  
distant unembraceable night" ~ Ode the the Black Panther by Neruda

* * *

 

"Thomson," Draco spoke curtly, giving the man escorting him through the door a brief nod of acknowledgement, tucking a silver lighter into the pocket of his black blazer. Thomson simply nodded back and followed him in.

Draco slipped into the glass booth and gestured for the waiter to get him a Martini as he sat down nonchalantly, shifting to get comfortable in the plush leather chair. His pale, ice blue eyes betrayed his cool exterior; they were hardened and fixed on a spot that lay on the floor in the circular showroom outside his booth.

Around the centre of the circle, there was another rounded series of compartments; cubicled glass booths, each of them occupying rich and rather ugly old men with hungry, impatient eyes. For a moment, Draco entertained the idea of muttering a corpeal choking jinx from where he was sat, and watching those looks of revolting appetency transform into fear, the already bloodshot eyes popping from their fat little heads as they learned a hard, slow lesson; overindulgence and perversion would be the painful, deserving end for them all. He should know.

"Malfoy, kindly remind me of why Potter sent you? You stick out like a sore thumb. Why on earth would someone as young and rich as you, want to buy a prostitute?" he asked quietly, his voice completely void of expression and emotion in case they were being watched. Draco smirked slightly, not averting his line of vision in the slightest.

“He sent me out here to get her back because I am the best actor in office. You are an abysmal soubrette and better suited to babysitting me. _I_ , on the other hand, have yet to fail an undercover operations assessment. And I am emotionally indifferent to her, so my judgement isn’t clouded by a thirst for revenge,” Draco answered. The young waiter boy placed a tray down on the small table, pouring from a bottle of Vermouth into a tumbler, and scurrying out of the room.

Draco took a swig from the glass, sitting back further in his chair, his eyes sweeping the profiles available to him, cataloguing visible weakness in the event of combat. Then he surveyed the room for weapons or recording devises, or any other potential threat. Thomson leant against the back of the small booth, upholding his handsome and expressionless posture as he stretched his legs out and settled for delving his hands deep within his tailored grey slacks.

"Malfoy, it's starting," Thomson observed, watching the room sit forward abruptly, readying themselves. Draco drew in a sharp breath, his full attention now focused on what was going on. Music clicked on and played quietly as a door on the other side of the room flicked open and a body was thrown forcefully out onto centre stage.

Thomson's face took on a rare expression of alarm and Draco's knuckles had gone white as he gripped the chair, struggling inwardly to keep his feelings below the surface; no one, not even Hermione Granger, should be put through something like this.

She was still in the position she'd fallen in and was making no effort to move on what looked to be a severely dislocated knee cap. She was almost skeletal, the thin piece of red lace they’d put on her hung off of her weak, broken body. Her horde of dark afro curls was much longer than when he’d last seen her, and looked dry and damaged, split ends illuminated by the harsh spotlight bearing down on her. She had red dots going all the way up the bottom half of her arm and bruises stood out shockingly against her pallid brown skin. Her eyes were darkened and droopy but something in them burned brighter than exhaustion; pure, raw anger.

"Subject is twenty two years of age, mixed race, fits a double C cup, and is reasonably compliant when correctly motivated"

Thomson heard Draco swallow his own anger quietly as the music stopped and the bidding began.

"Account number seven at 3000 Euros, and nine at 4000. Number five at 4250. Number 10 at 5030 Euros. Number seven at 5500"

"Account nine at... 10,000 Euros"

"Malfoy, don’t be reckless”

"No further bids on 10,000 Euros? Oh, account eight, bids... 20,000 Euros"

"Draco, please be careful," Thomson hissed as number eight bid even higher.

"Number nine at – _wow_ , 70,000 Euros!"

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Thomson hissed again.

"My orders were to get her out of here, and that's exactly what I'm doing”

Draco let out a solemn breath of relief that he didn’t know he’d been holding when eight backed out of the bidding war and swore from across the room.

"She goes to account number nine. Congratulations, Sir, we hope you are fully satisfied with your purchase," the voice said through the megaphone. Draco immediately stood up and turned to leave. Thomson took Draco's arm, manoeuvring him out of the room and up the corridor to meet the director.

"She's in there," the director indicated to the door he was stood in front of, his cheerful Italian accent the perfect façade for his line of work.

"I'll have your money transferred before midnight," Draco informed impatiently and pushed past the manager, closing the door behind him when Thomson had followed him through. A silencing charm was put up.

She was slumped on a wooden chair in the middle of the crummy dark room, and he breathed in deeply again, running one hand through his hair before crouching in front of her, checking her over, searching her for injuries and physical status.

"Fuck,” he sighed, her face lulling in between his hands, a sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead. The red needle marks on her arms were not reassuring, and she was quite clearly nursing several broken bones. He pushed her hair out of her face and tried to make eye contact with her.

“Granger, can you hear me?" he asked softly, shaking her a little. She stirred, but was still too out of it to say anything. He sighed, grunting as he lifted her arms and ducked under her abdomen, gently lifting her over his shoulder, swallowing a fresh surfacing of rage at how limp she was against him. He made sure his silencing charm was still fully functional before he pointed his wand at the opposite wall and blasted a hole in it.

"For fuck sake, Malfoy, when we get back I'm issuing a complaint about your erratic behaviour. How the hell am I supposed to handle you when you're deliberately trying to get yourself killed?" Thomson ranted, stepping through the whole after him and repairing it before they automatically broke into a run along the concrete in the street to get to the harbour.

"Extravagant, even for you, Malfoy," he commented as they slowed again, eying the huge pristine yacht sitting grandly in the water in front of them. Draco simply snorted and adjusted Granger slightly as they stepped on board. He motioned to one of the workers to start the engine and rushed her down some steps, gently setting her down on the sofa so he could check her out properly.

He took a small vial out of from his pocket and slid his hand around the back of her neck to lift her head. She parted her chapped, full lips slightly and he tipped a few drops of the liquid down her throat. She breathed out a barely audible sigh, and he relaxed somewhat, kneeling in front of her to wait while the strengthening potion worked. Thomson sat himself down on one of the armchairs nearby and sunk backwards into the interior.

Two years had passed since the day the war had ended, and a lot had changed. Draco had trained to become an Auror as part of his court ordered community service, and after six months of teaching and theory, he’d been partnered with Granger in the auror department as part of the international law enforcement division. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy about it. She was quite possibly the most irritating, studious, loud mouthed little shit he’d ever had the displeasure of working with. For the first few weeks of setting up their office and working their first case, they had done little else but argue and shout at each other.

Eventually, they had both decided that enough was enough, and begrudgingly agreed to call a truce.

It had been difficult and awkward and maddeningly frustrating. He was so used to being able to freely insult Granger if she’d been annoying him; but once they’d stopped fighting, all he could do was bite his tongue and try his utmost to tolerate her infuriating attitude. It didn’t help, of course, that he felt guilty every time he looked at her.

Six months of auror training, physical fitness tests, and psych evals, had done little to alter his mental state. He’d barely been approved for duty after being deemed ‘mentally unfit for service’, but Potter seemed to have a fresh, baffling faith in him. Perhaps he himself had been part of Potter’s strange, senseless redemption and need to make himself a better person, but whatever, Draco wasn’t complaining, if it got him a job and something to do with his time whilst building up his rep again, it didn’t matter what the motivations behind it were.

‘Survivors guilt’, and ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’ had not been easy for him to battle whilst trying desperately not to hex Hermione Granger into oblivion as they had settled into their new way of life and working so closely alongside each other. It hadn’t been a smooth path to say the least. But if anything, Draco was determined. His distraction had come after eight months of working with Granger. They’d been put on the case of some magical drug runners, tracking them, interrogating them, trying to cut off their imports and financial means.

It hadn’t been very long into the case when Granger had gotten a lead and gone in without informing him first. That was when she’d been picked up by the sex traffickers and import smugglers. Draco had been one step behind the Egyptian gangsters doing the soliciting for weeks, until about a month before the auction. Draco had a phone call from the director of the gathering. He'd managed to secure a place in the bidding ceremony and had alerted Thomson to prepare two undercover identities. He’d travelled across seas immediately after getting Potter’s say so.

Much to Draco’s surprise however, everything had gone rather smoothly and now they had Granger back in safe ranks. The only dilemma now was figuring out how damaged she’d be when she woke up, how much she would remember of it all, how well she’d be able to adjust to work and home life again. It was all touch and go, and whilst he was relieved to have his partner alive and in front of him, it was irritating him that he had little ability to predict how much work they would need to do in the fallout of all of this bullshit.

He was ripped from his train of thought however, when the young witch stirred again and stretched out her limbs. He immediately stopped her carefully in case she did further damage to herself, and as suspected, she curled up in pain and yelped at the way her broken knee restricted her movements.

"Malfoy?" she whimpered weakly.

“Granger, can you hear me?” he asked.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyelids flickering, barely open and red rimmed.

"Don't move yet, okay?" he told her firmly, gesturing for Thomson to come and hold her hand whilst he tended to her injuries. He wrapped one hand around her ankle, and gripped her calf muscle with his other hand, closing his eyes for a moment, swallowing once, before pulling hard.

The sickening click of her knee cap caused him to have to swallow bile as it popped back into place and her body jerked violently, her back arching upwards, a cry of agony escaping her cracked lips. She whimpered and sobbed for a while, and he gently kept one comforting hand on her ankle whilst Thomson murmured soothing words into her ear. When she’d calmed down some more, Draco took out his wand and slowly began fixing her broken bones, muttering healing incantations as her fractures disappeared and all that remained was a whole load of bruises and some possible lingering nerve and tissue damage.

When he had finished, she still had silent tears streaming rapidly down her face, but her breathing was less irregular, and she had slightly more colour in her freckled cheeks.

“You want a shower?” Thomson asked after a while, and she suddenly jolted, her drooped eyes snapping fully open.

"Granger, stop moving!" Malfoy exclaimed, still knelt in front of her. Slowly, a small smile split across her mouth as she registered the identities of her companions with more lucidity.

"Thomson, I missed you”

She made an attempt to sit up, but she keeled over almost immediately, collapsing back into a sitting position.

"I told you not to move," Draco stated simply.

"Where are we?”

“We’re in Egypt,” he informed blandly, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her.

"Shit," she whispered.

“Yes, quite”

There was a moment of further quiet, in which Granger blinked a few times, breathing still slightly laboured; clearly it was a struggle just to be upright. He frowned, sitting forward and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Merlin, Granger, you’re burning up. Come on,” he stood up, taking one of her arms and slowly, carefully lifting her to her feet, taking the majority of her weight. She winced and bit down on her lip hard when she went to put pressure on her knee, but after waiting a few seconds, she nodded at him once. He began to help her move across the room and up the stairs on the other side of the boat to the bathroom.

He set her down on the toilet seat and called for Thomson to get some food ready whilst he turned the shower on. He sighed and crouched in front of her slumped body, gently pulling the thin dress over her head, paying no heed to her nakedness, and helping her gently under the water.

When he could feel her body temperature returning to a safe state, he allowed her to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her chin underneath the spray. He washed her hair quietly, dividing it into small sections and massaging the conditioner into the curls slowly, paying particular attention to the split ends, concentrating on getting all of the dirt out of it, getting so long that it now rested against the floor near the bottom of her bony spine. He fought the urge to throw up as his eyes subconsciously travelled the bruises. There were bumpy, angry scars all the way up her vertebrae, and sickening bite marks dotting her fragile neck.

When all the conditioner had been washed out, he reached up for the knob and turned off the water, helping her once more to her feet and wrapping a towel around her. He checked her temperature again, and sat her down on the bed reserved for her in the other room, checking her vitals, his expression concentrated and focused the entire time.

All the while, she said nothing, simply breathing and leaning on him and allowing him to support her. Everything looked alright really, apart from the slight wheezing in her chest and the way she still couldn’t keep her eyes open properly.

He eventually went to the suitcase in the corner of the plush room, pulling out a loose fitting green turtle neck and black leggings along with some clean underwear. He assisted her in getting dressed, and noted that she slowly gained strength with every little movement, plaiting her hair for her and tying it out of her face. Then he helped her lay back against the pillows and left her to rest.

* * *

"Granger, if you don't eat that meal I will shove it down your neck," Draco snapped. He despised having to admit it to himself, but he had genuinely missed her. He had missed arguing with her and getting her so angry that her long throng of curls frizzled out and her cheeks went a dangerous colour of red. She was usually so strong and hot headed; watching her sit and stare idly at the spaghetti bolognese on her plate was sort of depressing.

She looked so small, dressed in his hoodie now, the fabric swamping her. She'd French platted her hair into submission and tied it near the bottom of her spine, having thrown on a simple pair of jeans she'd found in a wardrobe. Her injuries were more obvious now, as the angry red gash just underneath her eye had been too deep for him to heel immediately. Her broken bones had been fixed but one of her ribs had been shattered quite badly and, despite being able to heal it, it was still causing her a little discomfort, and she was still limping on her knee.

She had not said anything about the drugs, as the potion Draco had given her earlier contained an ingredient of Snape's design to counteract them. He could tell she was going to be tired for a little while as well, but in general, everyone was these days.

"I hope you weren't too mean to Thomson," she said, letting go of her pride and beginning to roll the spaghetti around her fork. Draco simply scoffed and looked annoyed.

"That man is almost as insufferable as you are, Granger. You and I manage fine, don't we?" he answered, his attitude earning him a familiar look of disapproval.

"Malfoy," she sighed exasperatedly. He blessed her with the trademark smirk and watched in satisfaction as she grumpily shoved the piece of pastry and meat into her mouth.

"He calls himself my 'handler', like I'm a child," he replied. She rolled her eyes at him and smiled warmly, tilting her head to the side momentarily.

"I missed you," she said, as though the concept of Hermione Granger missing Draco Malfoy was totally normal. She looked back down at her dinner, taking another mouthful of the spaghetti, swigging at the coalesce of pumpkin juice and strengthening potion he’d made for her.

"Don't start your Gryffindor crap, Granger," he muttered, leaning against the worktop of the pristine boat and messing up his blonde hair subconsciously. It was her turn to frown.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Two days ago," he shrugged, knowing she would be able to tell if he was lying anyway. The first rule of working with Granger was to understand that she was just as clever as he was. There was no point in underestimating her; Draco preferred his bollocks attached to his body thank you very much. Second rule was to know her as well as she knew him. He was never to mollycoddle her; she absolutely loathed sympathy and being made a fuss out of. He had never had to learn this the hard way of course.

But now they were partners, and he understood her better and he knew how to deal with her when she was upset.

"Granger, shut up, I will sleep when I need to, alright?" he snapped, trudging over to the table she was sitting at and throwing himself down on the chair.

"But, Malf-"

"Granger, be quiet for a second,” he said in a softer voice, looking her straight in the eyes “I need you to make a statement”

"Yes, alright. What do you want to know?" she asked, already knowing the procedure, as they had interrogated and interview suspects and victims together a number of times.

"Obviously I need to start with what happened when you went into this alone”

"I think you're going to need a drink"

He got them through it as fast as he could and she cried a couple of times; but he had anticipated such a reaction. Despite being strong and resilient, she still had a certain sensitivity about her. He supposed without it, she would be as cold as him.

Everything was finally beginning to feel as exhausting as it should have been. His clothes were itching his skin – he’d taken his blazer off, and the tie he'd been wearing was discarded somewhere in the living room of the yacht. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was a mess, falling about his face and eyes so he had to keep running his fingers through it or flicking it away from his stressed complexion.

"I'm out of my depth here, Granger. How am I supposed to fix you this time?”

“Trust me,” she told him resolutely, wiping the tears from her eyes and wetting her lips, smiling at him sadly “and trust that I can do this in my own time”

“I was being serious earlier, you know. Never do that to me again”

She stared at him for a few moments, before he broke the eye contact and stood up, running another hand through his mussed hair as he left the room.

* * *

 

“Miss Granger, kindly sit still,” Snape’s voice was irritated, but not vicious as she pursed her lips together guiltily and shuffled back a little bit on the hospital bed, finally keeping still as he gestured for her to open her eyes wide. He shined the illuminated tip of his wand at them, searching for any abnormalities.

Then he moved the sleeve of her hospital gown up past her forearm, and tapped slightly on the vein before swiping an anti-septic wipe over it, and sliding a needle beneath the skin, concentrating hard as he drew blood from it slowly, the red liquid gradually filling the syringe. The entire time, his hand rested on the back of her elbow, keeping it in place, the spindly fingers surprisingly warm and soft against her skin. She swallowed a little when she began to feel a little lightheaded and her throat went dry.

“I feel dizzy,” she told him, a frown creasing her brow. He glanced up at her from where he’d been watching his hands and the needle closely, nodding.

“Dizziness and fatigue is common in patients who have been kept in captivity for longer than six months. We can take you off the IV in a few hours and then you can start eating solid food again. We’ll keep you until we get your results back, but I’m rather sure you’ll be able to go home before Friday,” he said, taking his plastic gloves off, cleaning up the wipes and various other medical objects he’d used for her latest check-up.

“Do you think I have any STDs?”

“We can’t say until we hear back from the lab, but it’s highly unlikely, Miss Granger. Magical folk have a rather inept ability to fight off infection. When I spoke to the head healer, he was more concerned about your mental recovery rather than your physiology. Have you spoken to Potter about signing on with a psychiatrist?”

“No. No. I – I don’t respond well to therapy, it’s never worked for me. And please stop pretending that you are even the slightest bit concerned for my well-being. You’re doing nothing more than what your job requires you to do,” she was fed up of sitting there feeling like a schoolgirl in the Hogwarts medical wing.

“On the contrary, Miss Granger, my job _requires_ me to care about the wellbeing of my patients, regardless of who they are. Potter said he was going to be back tonight, and I think it wise that you have something to tell him about how you’re going to deal with the aftermath of your ordeal. The insufferable man will no doubt be insisting that you get some form of professional help. Your condition is stable for now, but if you experience anything out of the ordinary regarding your physical state, don’t hesitate to let one of the nurses know,” he said simply in a regal, emotionless voice, nodding at her once before leaving down the aisle in the middle of the beds and disappearing through the double doors.

She huffed, sitting back against her pillows and looking forlornly at the firmly wrapped white bandages around her left arm and the sore looking gash on her knuckles that Snape had been hesitant to heal magically in case of infection. She really fucking hated hospitals.

And something told her she wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

* * *

 

"Thomson, you're driving me up the wall. Will you put the fucking pen down and go get some lunch?" Draco blasted, slamming his quill down on his desk and glaring at his temporary work partner. They’d been back for three weeks now, and Draco was still being forced to work with Thomson. The idiot meant well, but he was bloody infuriating.

He never in a million years thought he'd be desperate to have Granger back in the office. At least when he was working with her, they got things done; they figured things out and were generally able to get through it fast and fuss-free. When Thomson was involved, Draco had to do all the legwork.

He knew Granger had a brilliant mind and he was well aware that he had a very observant mind himself, and they had put more people in prison in their two years as partners than Mad-Eye-Moody had in his entire life time. They solved their cases fast and efficiently. But this was the longest they'd ever been on anything, and now attacks on random wizards; large shipments of drugs, and murders on a lot of muggle borns across the globe, were becoming more frequent.

For a while, Malfoy had been pulled off the case to chase after Granger, but now he was back on it, there was nothing he could piece together properly, nothing that would hold his concentration span because there was no _fire_ in what he was doing. No drive or momentary distraction. Just pure and utter silence. All he did was shuffle through notes and write down the things that caught his eye with no real belief that any of it would help.

They did not know the leader of any organisation or any of the people involved. They had no idea what they were up against or who would be the next target.

It was a daunting prospect and it was driving Draco mad.

"Thomson, Malfoy," a familiar female voice sounded from the doorway and his head snapped up. He cursed as he nearly spilt his tea over him.

She really had grown taller since her capture, he noted, or perhaps it was the weight she was slowly regaining. Her face was soft but her cheekbones were still slightly too defined and her arms didn’t look particularly durable. There were daunting dark shadows beneath her eyes, and she walked with a slight limp, obviously still healing. She was leant against the doorframe nonchalantly, a bored expression on her face. She was wearing a white blouse tucked into a high wasted black pencil skirt that stopped just at the bottom of her thighs. On her feet were a rather stunning pair of Louis Vuitton’s.  

"Granger, what are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be back until next Monday”

"Well, you look as though you’re about to kill Thomson, and you have no leads. And – jesus christ, you’re drinking the PJ Tips,” she raised her eyebrows as she pushed off of the frame and stepped forward, watching with a slightly amused glint in her eyes as he struggled to mop up the hot liquid on his desk.

“Thomson,” she said softly, placing a soft hand to the older wizard’s arm and pressing a peck of greeting to his cheek “go back to your own office and forget this case. I'm back now, you may as well go back to the easy life”

Thomson seemed to glow in her presence, looking at her with gratitude. He stood up, gathering his things into a box on his neat desk and walking past her in a hurry as though he could not wait to get out of the office.

"What are you stressing over then?" she asked, backing into her old desk and shimmying back on the wood so she was perched on it, staring at him, waiting for him to talk to her. Malfoy scowled.

"What do you think you're playing at, Granger?"

"I've already told you. I'm over it. Now can we please just get on with the case?”

"You know, if Potter finds you in here he's going to blow his top," he pointed out. She shrugged again, and he bristled, resigning himself to the fact that she’d developed yet another maddeningly irritating little trait in her absence.

"Stop telling me off and talk to me about these Egyptian Gangsters," she inquired. He rolled his eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, puffing out air through his lips and wetting them with the tip of his tongue.

"It was a false trail. They’re typical muggle-esque criminals; prostitution, drug running, petty theft. It mostly stops there to be honest. We tailed everyone I came across while I was chasing your stupid arse, and not one of them came up positive for murder. I put them all in Azkaban. We followed the head of the organisation for the whole time I was trying to get to you. We thought it was Nada Abuakar, but he was a bit of an amateur. Thomson and I have been catching up since we got back to London; the attacks and murders have branched out. The latest being in Cannock, Staffordshire. I tracked down the muggle they killed. She was actually a squib," he informed.

She frowned slightly, following his voice closely and processing every word, clearly coming to her own conclusions.

"COD?" she asked. Draco drew in a sharp breath and met her eyes, making her slightly uneasy.

"She was naked. She bled out but there was no sign of sexual assault. No bind marks, no signs of struggle at all. But – well, they carved letters across her stomach with a knife," he said, looking sick and a little uncomfortable with telling her all of this, as though it would set her off on some sort of psychotic break.

"What did they write?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Filth"

* * *

 

"Shit, Granger, you look awful," Draco commented as they met in their office in the morning. He was in the middle of unhooking the black Melton wool jacket he favoured. She could see why he liked the garment so much; it was Ben Sherman, funnel neck, branded detail at the left shoulder and a single vent at the rear, button down, personally tailored to him. Malfoy took his fashion very seriously. She found it hilarious how seriously sometimes.

"You would too, if you'd slept in a two star hotel with a bath covered in lime scale, and a bed that isn't even worthy of the name ‘bed’," she grumbled, pulling her robes around her tighter and swallowing hard as though she had a horrible taste in her mouth. Malfoy's eyes widened for a second and then his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why didn't you just go back to your flat? I mean, it isn't much better than the lime scaled bathtub, but it is a little bit of an improvement," he remarked, regarding her thin frame with a concerned glance. He slipped his coat on and fastened it up, lifting the collar around the back of it in defence against the impending November rain on the dreary winter streets of London. Apparently she’d ghosted out again though, because Malfoy had to click to fingers together in front of her eyes to get her attention again.

"Granger, I know I am abnormally good-looking, but would you please refrain from gawping at me; the look doesn't suit you when you're tired”

“Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I believe you were about to tell me about the latest fight you and Weasley have had”

“He was drunk again, I'd just had enough. I’m not all there at the moment, but I’m not a bloody doormat. I would have said something stupid that I would have regretted if I had stayed, so I just packed a bag and left," she explained. He raised his eyebrows again for a split second but after a bit, he broke into a slow, graceful clap.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Malfoy, I just left my fiancé when he was in a bad place, and now you’re clapping at me”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back against his desk momentarily.

“Granger, you've had worse nights, I'm sure. And I’m being deadly serious. You finally came to your senses after ten years, and I thought you deserved a round of applause, so don’t be a bitch”

He pushed passed her, standing in the doorway impatiently as though he hadn't just totally insulted her. He gestured for her to move.

"C’mon then, Granger. If it means that much to you, I'll get us a five star hotel tonight; we're going to have to stay in Cannock for a couple of days anyway. Potter called me this morning. Longbottom is overseeing the forensic team but we've officially been put back in charge of the investigation. Now move your marvellous arse, I want to get going”

Instead of doing what he’d requested however, she defiantly clicked her fingers, wandlessly snapping the door shut as Draco became even more impatient with her.

"What the bloody hell do you want now, Granger?" he growled. She scowled at him.

"I want your advice on something. Don’t be an asshole,"

"What, then?" he said, taking the leather gloves out of his pocket and pulling them on snugly.

“These last few weeks, I’ve been feeling like someone is watching me”

This got his attention and he leaned back against the doorframe, looking at her strangely.

“Are you sure?”

"I felt it last night just before I left the flat. I stood at the window in my bedroom and I couldn't see anything, but I felt it. Like someone was watching me really intensely from outside in the street," she explained carefully as he studied her carefully. This was the thing with Malfoy, she trusted him to look at her and she never felt under scrutiny.

"Granger what are you saying? Do you think you’re being stalked or something?"

"My senses aren't as attuned as yours, but I think, for some weird reason, and this is totally on instinct, that it's linked to these attacks," she answered him in a quieter tone. But she knew he would listen, and that he would consider her opinion without totally dismissing it.

"Your instincts are sensitive at the moment, Granger, you're totally exposed to all your emotions, and you don't know what you're feeling from one moment to the next. But you’re smart, as much as it kills me to admit it, and you’re not one to dwell on childish whims. I'll see Potter about some protection for you after we come back from Cannock. Until then, it doesn't matter, because I'm not letting you wonder off without me. I’m not chasing you half way across the world again”

"I don't want protection, I want you to take me _seriously_. I'm sure about this, Malfoy; I genuinely think the person watching me is involved"

"So do I, Granger. I never said I wasn't taking you seriously, but I still think now you've actually used your infuriatingly brilliant brain and left your prick of a fiancé, you should have someone making sure you're okay," he said in a serious voice.

"Why don't I set up a permanent patronus to let you know that I’m alive at various points in the day? We'll be together most of the time anyway," she suggested. Malfoy raised his eyebrows yet again.

"Can you even do that, Granger? It sounds like some pretty complicated magic to me. And I'm not too keen on the idea of an otter waking me up every three hours during the night," he said. She rolled her eyes again.

"Don't pretend you get more than three hours sleep a night, Malfoy," she smirked, turning on her heel, obviously expecting him to follow her to the ministry’s long distance apparating point. But she was stopped before she could even get there by a strong arm wrapping around the left side of her waist and pulling her around to walk the other way. He let go of her when was sure she wasn't going to turn back around and apparate to Cannock; not even a calming charm could get her happy enough to teleport without hurting herself at the moment.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she asked in a slightly whiny tone. He stopped for a second and looked at her, ignoring several colleagues rushing passed with sheets of paper flying out of their hands.

"You just can't apparate when you're in this state Granger, I'm driving us up there," he informed, a hand in the small of her back guiding her along again.

"But Malfoy it's a three hour drive"

"Not in my car it isn't"

"That's because your car is a death trap"

* * *

 

Ninety minutes later, they were streaming fast down the M5 in a black Nissan 2012 GTR chrome edition. Malfoy drove like a maniac, but since they'd settled on a straight ahead road, Hermione had been able to relax amongst the shiny and extremely comfortable, low leather seats. The scene was silent apart from the pitter patter of transparent drops of rain hitting the windshield and the roar of the motorway in the distance. The silences between them had long since seized to be awkward and now she enjoyed just sitting, watching the blur of other cars as they zoomed past. She let the slow sound of Malfoy's steady breathing soothe her own fast beating heart.

Everything she did reminded her of her awful night. Leaving Ron was one of the hardest decisions of her life. He was suffering as much as she was of late, both of them extremely mentally ill. But a small voice in the back of her head whispered the truth. She'd done the right thing, saved him from further pain. She hoped he wouldn't hate her. She wished with everything that she was that she could just fall in love with him again.

She remembered being in love with Ron. It had been new and fresh and had made her see everything in a brighter light. He had been the epitome of happiness and youth. It was just so sad that it had abandoned him.

"Did you want to stop at some point?" Malfoy asked, his voice quiet.

"No, thank you," she breathed. If there was one thing that was good about her life at the moment and she knew would stay good; it was Malfoy. They didn’t really have a relationship outside of work and regulations, but he was solid and reliable and safe and he made sure that she wasn't too broken or upset. He wouldn't allow her to be weak but he would not be inconsiderate and he understood that she was just a human who made mistakes and tried to deal with them.

Hermione had never imagined that being an adult could be so hard. She had always thought that the war had forced her to have to grow up; she saw now that it was the understatement of the century. Being grown up was not about how many people she’d killed or accepting responsibility for other people's lives.

It was about making mistakes and only learning from them after she’d made them three or four times. It was pulling herself out of bed every morning for work no matter how truly shit she felt. It was moving house and making decisions that were scary and frightening but exiting at the same time. It was learning to find a balance between selfish and selfless and using her initiative. It was getting over childish traits and putting aside her own views to get something amazing out of everything she did. It was growing up and being a woman and it was painful and long winded and hard but it was her life and she loved it.

She closed her eyes with no intention of falling asleep, basking in the peaceful simplicity of where she was at that moment; driving at 180mph up the motorway with Draco Malfoy, ready to solve murders. How very clichéd.

* * *

 

"Morning," Neville smiled as Hermione went to hug him tightly.

“Its good to see you,” she insisted, ruffling his hair. He squirmed, but grinned and rolled his eyes at her, going to mess her hair up too, causing her to dodge out of the way.

"We’re going over to Great Wyrly to talk to the sister of the latest victim. Call us if anything comes up,” Draco instructed, nodding at Neville, who saluted him.

“Dean is on his way up from a smaller case he’s working in York. Harry had him transferred”

“Good, tell him I want his full opinion when he gets here-”

"Malfoy?" she asked, sounding concerned as he broke off, distracted by something, stepping instinctually closer to her. He shook his head a little and looked back at her.

"It's nothing, Granger. Longbottom, keep an eye out and make sure you have your wand on you, we'll be back in a couple of hours. Make sure your team are careful. Document everything. Granger, get in the car," he ordered briskly. She narrowed her eyes.

"You don't get to boss me about-"

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car, Granger," he snapped, getting a venomous glare from Neville.

Hermione however, could tell that he wasn't particularly annoyed with her. No. Something else was bothering him. She had a strong urge to find out what it was and she had a suspicion that he would tell her when they were safely in the car.

So, she glared at him once again, leaned forward to kiss Neville on the cheek and then turned away, stepping into the vehicle. Malfoy copied her in a fast, brusque walk and slammed the car door shut behind him; shoving the key in the ignition and starting the car up in a hurried but collected state. She waited until they were back on the main road and were driving around a roundabout by a carvery before turning to him.

"Malfoy, slow down,” she requested, and he immediately slowed from 80mph, to 60.

"Whatever you felt last night, whoever's been watching us, has followed us up here," he said in a slightly bitter tone.

"Taking the car… you were trying to throw them off our trail! You _did_ take me seriously," she guessed slowly. He nodded curtly and stared ahead, slamming down the gear as he turned. She sat there for a few seconds in shock as she contemplated what was happening to them.

"I always take you seriously, you should know that by now. If I didn't, I have a feeling I'd be missing both my testicles," he said, his tone still irritated and she could tell he was a little on edge.

"I think we should speak to Sylvia and Mike before we get food. I want to get it over and done with”

He simply nodded and twisted the car to turn the corner and go up a road that looked dauntingly long. He had to drive all the way up and then turn back on himself because the victim's sister's house was on the other side of the road. They eventually parked up, and rattled by whoever was following them, Hermione reached behind her, curling her hand around the top of her wand where it rested in the back of her jeans, secured by her belt, visible only when her blue leather jacket shifted slightly. Malfoy knocked, and a tall woman in her mid-sixties answered with a very unhinged grin that only made Hermione more cautious.

"Good morning," the woman shrieked loudly and moved aside to let them through the door. The house was very warm and cosy. Very typical of a middle age couple. Thimble collections hung on the walls and there was a severe overindulgence of rugs.

“Sylvia Harris? I'm Hermione Granger and this is my work partner, Draco Malfoy. We have a few questions about your sister, Tilly"

"I've already told you people everything," she replied in her high pitched voice. Her short hair seemed to stand on end as she spoke.

"Well, we're the leading authorities on this investigation; unfortunately, we have recently been… abroad on a case in Egypt. We just thought we'd come to offer our condolences and to ask our own questions. You're a witch, I trust?" Hermione asked. Sylvia simply nodded again and gestured for them to sit down on the pale blue sofas of her living room.

"Your husband works at the local pub, am I right?" Hermione asked, making Sylvia frown.

"Yes, I tried to get him to quit but he won't. It gives him a beer belly, course, but he likes the socialising. Not right after he had cancer in his shitter last year, not healthy for him. But he never listens”

"Did he mention anything strange these last few days? Did he fall out with anyone while he was drunk?" Malfoy asked, looking very uncomfortable. Hermione knew he hated people like Sylvia; people who were too over the top.

"No, Duck, everything was normal. We all get along around here you see, and my husband hasn't touched his wand in three years. Says it tempts fate," she explained.

"Mrs Harris, do you think Tilly had any enemies or people that might want revenge on her?"

"I already answered that one the other day. No. Everyone loved her as much as I did. Aren't you supposed to be the best in the department? You should've studied my statement more carefully," Sylvia told them. Malfoy and Hermione looked at each other, concern etched in both their faces.

"Mrs Harris, do you think that the next door neighbour was friendly with your sister?" Hermione asked, keeping her flow of questions going as much as she could. They both inquired their own puzzles over the hours they spent talking to Sylvia, but neither could concentrate properly, both were waiting to get back to the car. When they finally collapsed into their seats, Malfoy was the first to vocalise what they had both picked up on after talking to their victim’s relative.

"There was no mention in the statement of anyone asking about Tilly's enemies,” he sighed “someone tampered with the statement"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Hermione can't even have a night off without there being a corpse involved.

"I just got off the phone to Harry, he isn't happy. And he started lecturing me about Ron, so I put the phone down on him. Then he rang me back and threatened to sack me again if I keep disrespecting him at work," Hermione sighed, coming back from the toilets at the carvery they'd just ate at. Both were full and ready to get back on the case.

"Disrespect? I have my hair jinxed red every time I insult the guy; you respect him more than anyone in the whole office," he remarked, rolling his eyes. She raised her eyebrows in agreement and gestured for him to stand up so they could get back to Neville. Before any of them had got anywhere near the door however, Hermione's phone started ringing. Immediately she answered, looking a little healthier than she had that morning.

"You’d better get down here quick. One of the team went to ask number five if we could take a look around the garden but we didn't get an answer, so they called me up there. The car was in the drive, all the lights were on and the back door was wide open. Mione, we found another body"

Her eyes widened and her breath quickened, catching Draco’s attention.

"Do we have an ID?" she asked slowly, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Mione, its – its Cho Chang"

* * *

 

"Harry is so upset," Hermione said, her voice wavering as she sat down on a chair in the hotel room Malfoy had booked them for that night. Malfoy was already halfway to his bedroom pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went. She buried her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her thighs, ignoring the stinging tears threatening to spill over and roll down her face.

"Granger, you're shattered. Go to bed and we'll see what we can do in the morning. Longbottom is going to be at the scene with his team all night. I'll call him when I wake up, and if they've found anything I'll wake you," he said, peeking around the door and seeing her shaking as she cried into her hands. He came back out into the room, still topless and sat down on the sofa beside her.

"Granger, this is messed up. I know it is, but you've got to be professional about this. Remember that you have a job to do, and that’s the only way that you can help Chang now”

To be perfectly honest, he was upset too. Inside, he was hurting. Of course, he was no stranger to pain considering the position he'd played in the war, but this – this was out of his depth, and he was not used to being so caught off guard. He could always predict it, see it coming and prepare himself for the hit so he could act it out as though he was not bothered. But this thing with Cho had forced his guts into his mouth and he was not totally aware of what exactly it was he was feeling. He’d cared about her.

And suddenly, she was just… gone.

"Malfoy I don't understand how you can be so calm about this. You dated her after the war”

"You think I'm calm? What did _you_ do when _Krum_ died?”

She simply stared at him, all the confirmation he needed. She swallowed tightly and hung her head.

“I don't want to be working with you if you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow, so for the love of god, would you please just go to fucking bed?" he said, standing up again and going to his own room, shutting the door a little harder than was necessary.

She was angry; angry that someone as beautiful and funny and intelligent as Cho could be taken from him so abruptly, angry that things seemed to be on an unstoppable downhill slope. And he was just sad. Sad and furious. And he’d been right, when Viktor had died, Hermione had been catatonic for days trying to internalise everything and say the bare minimum so everyone thought she was fine. She sighed, standing up and moving to her bed, pulling off her clothes and slipping in under the covers.

She was pretty sure, after everything she and Malfoy had been through together, that she cared about him. Of course she did, how could she not? He had saved her life on a number of occasions and despite popular opinion, he had turned into a good man. And if she was grateful for anything right now, it was that he was here.

* * *

 

"Are you trying to suffocate me with that air con?" she asked, staring at it grumpily.

"Do I get to keep my dick if I tell you that I _was_ trying to suffocate you?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. She scowled again.

"I won't even justify that question with an answer. Shut up and drive," she demanded, trying to keep a straight face as he chuckled a little and pressed his foot down on the accelerator, making the car jerk forward violently.

"You want to drive, Granger? Let’s drive," he grinned as he practically threw the car out of the car park and continued to laugh at her ranting very loudly about his maniac driving.

" _Draco Abraxas Malfoy, slow the fuck down_ ," she finally demanded as he swerved between cars all the way up the freeway where they were headed back to the scene of the crime. He rolled his eyes, still grinning, before falling back into the slow stance of the traffic; joining sweaty morning drivers that were still half awake and were beeping their horns whilst calling each other all the names under the sun.

"Alright there, Granger?" he said, raising his eyebrows as she tried to get her breathing back to normal.

"One of these days..." she hissed, but he saw the spark of mirth in her brown eyes. A moment later however, she sighed, looking out the window, ignoring the wetness of tears lingering there. She hadn’t been surprised to wake up and see Malfoy appearing just as exhausted as she was, and the evidence of tears could be seen in the red rims around his eyes.

"How did you do it?"

She knew what the small question was in reference to of course; he was inquiring as to how she had dealt with the death of Viktor Krum, _her_ ex-boyfriend. She didn't look at Malfoy, and she kept her eyes frozen on the road flickering passed her window, although moved her hand, threading her fingers through his in the space between them, squeezing gently.

"You feel all the things that you have to feel, and then when you feel like you’ve cried as much as you can, you drag yourself out of bed, and you try to figure out how to function again. Ron was rather bitter about the whole thing actually. I think he wondered whether I'd be so messed up if it was him that had died. Zabini laughed at me, told me that the reason I was so fucked in the head was because I didn't have a factual answer for it all; there isn't a truly helpful book that realistically tells you how to grieve”

"Was he right about that?”

"I'm not afraid to admit it, he was right. I _am_ used to having an answer for everything or being able to find it on paper; I wasn't expecting to find myself completely clueless," she replied. He smiled to himself.

"I would love to have seen your face when you realised that you had to start using your instinct. Zabini managed to psychoanalyse you as well; I bet he was proud of himself," he pointed out.

"He was insufferable for days with that triumphant little smirk of his. I despise you forever introducing me to him”

“You love him really, Granger. Everyone loves him when they get to know him”

“I’m not denying that. I'm not surprised you two are like brothers; you're both total assholes”

"Shit," he whispered to himself as they pulled into Princess Street again; never in a million years had he ever thought he'd be investigating the scene of Cho Chang's murder. He felt Granger’s hand leaving his as she slowly clicked her seatbelt and opened the door. He jumped when his own door opened and his eyes flickered sideways to her hand. He stubbornly ignored it however, stepping out of the car and locking it behind him.

"Let's just get this over with, Granger,” he said stoically, placing his hand in the small of her back and guiding her towards their destination. The door was open and they stepped inside when they heard voices.

The living room was total chaos and Hermione nearly turned right back around to throw up. She resisted the urge however, taking a very shaky step forward only to have someone slam into her and wrap their arms tightly around her.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked her voice full of mixed and confusing emotions but laced mostly with shock.

"There aren't enough aurors. They're all finishing up on that case up in Egypt. Harry wanted me here, so I'm filling in. God, Hermione," Ginny gasped in a hushed voice, holding on tighter as Hermione relaxed and hugged her back properly, nuzzling her face in her collarbone and breathing in her comforting scent. Ginny noticed Malfoy staring blankly at the wall behind the embracing girls.

"Hermione," Ginny whispered, pulling away and looking at Malfoy, worried.

"Its fine," Hermione said quietly, taking his elbow to pull him forwards. He shrugged away from her however, and strode forwards to examine the blood on the wall more carefully.

"What does it say?” Ginny asked, crossing her arms over her chest “I don’t know much about it, I just got here”

"It's in Latin, isn't it?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he muttered to himself, tracing his fingers over the words without actually touching it. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What does it say?" Ginny asked again impatiently.

“Gloria Meretricis. It’s poor handwriting, that’s why you can’t read it properly. It means glory whore," Malfoy spoke through barely parted lips, yet his diction was crisp and terrifyingly calm. He drew in a shaky breath before leaving the room, sprinting upstairs. Hermione followed him, still trying to process the brutality of what had happened here.

The stench of death burned through her nostrils and clouded her vision. She realised why when she looked back at the front door and watched a white bag being manoeuvred out of the house. The pop of its apparation struck violently at her heartstrings.

"Would you excuse me; I'll be back shortly," she breathed, unable to look at Harry's closed off and fiercely composed face as he held Ginny, who had also followed them up to the second floor.

"Wait one moment. I'm at the Walsall office later, I want to see you and Malfoy there at 9:00 tonight on the dot; no later," he said sharply over Ginny's shoulder.

"Yes, boss," Hermione replied with a sigh. Harry was always short tempered when he was upset. She trudged slowly up the second thin staircase papered with a faint blue floral pattern. The closer she got to the place of Cho's death, the worse the smell got as the dark magic surrounding the scene buzzed in her veins as though it had been injected. She inhaled deeply and her heart thumped wildly.

"Any prints?" she heard an icy, overly professional voice cut through the atmosphere to reach her ears. She followed it to the closest bedroom.

"What did you notice in the living room?" Hermione asked immediately as she pulled her eyes away from the blinding pool of red blood in the middle of the cream carpet.

"What did _you_ notice?" he asked as he carried on examining the room, the conflict never leaving his eyes.

"No locks broken, no sign of struggle... the small thermometer in the corner of the room on the floor was charmed to stay at 50 degrees but there was no muggle central heating on. I bagged it when Ginny was looking at you and there's a sticking charm on the liquid inside that's about 23 hours old. Cho was killed just after this charm was cast..."

"So you think Chang left us a clue? I don't know much of muggle science but when there are more people in a room, the room temp go's up right?" Malfoy said, the conflicted look turning thoughtful. She smirked darkly.

"She was telling us that there were more than two people in the room. She was telling us that the unsub wasn’t alone"

* * *

 

"And you're absolutely sure about this?" Harry asked them as they both sat on the other side of his desk. He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his temples, looking exhausted.

"Yeah, we had Neville run the thermometer through at the lab. The charm was cast three minutes before her heart stopped beating; it was designed to freeze at the temperature we found it at. We got it confirmed that there were two people in the house with Cho at the time she died. The unsub had a partner. We found some DNA on three glasses on a table in the kitchen and one of the intruders matched with the prints we found at the other scene up the road; the deaths were related and the handwriting on Cho's wall was a positive match to the writing on Tilly’s chest. There's something different about this compared to the other murders though; there's too much evidence. They’re devolving. Slowly, but surely. The victimology is changing”

"Maybe they’re getting butterfingers. Still, all this DNA means nothing; we don't have it on our system so we don't have any suspects," Harry said stonily and she could tell he was still upset after seeing what was written on the wall at Cho's house. Malfoy stole a small sideways glance at her before looking back at Harry.

"You could say that, Potter, but we do have something that makes it easier. The DNA isn't a direct match to anyone on our system but it is extremely similar to an ex-convict we have on there”

"A relative?" Harry asked, sitting up in his chair and looking much more interested all of a sudden.

"The unsub’s son, to be precise"

"Who?" Harry asked almost impatiently, looking from Malfoy to Hermione expectantly. Hermione suddenly looked frightened and apprehensive.

"Harry-"

“Hermione, tell me who it is. I don't have all day"

"Calm yourself, Potter," Malfoy advised in a slightly snappy voice. Harry simply glared venomously at Hermione, still expecting her to tell him who it was.

"Harry, what you have to understand is-"

“ _Hermione_ ," Harry warned loudly.

"Sirius Black. The unsub’s biological son is Sirius Black”

* * *

 

"What's the occasion?" Malfoy asked, his eyes scanning Hermione from head to toe.

Her curls fell about her body, her lips painted in a matte red lipstick. She wore a slim fit, dark green, silk, backless ball gown with a plunging open neckline.

"Like it?" she said, doing a brief twirl before leaning over her desk to grab her mobile and put it in her light green hand purse. He smirked at her cheerful demeanour. It was rather refreshing to see such a bright smile returned to her face.

"Very much. Where are you going?" he asked.

"All the Gryffindors from our year are having a reunion ball at Grimmauld Place and I've been told I'm not allowed to go unless I turn up in something other than my work clothes," she informed and he nodded in acknowledgement of the information.

“Malfoy, are you okay? You look a little distracted this afternoon. You were a bit off this morning actually, if I recall correctly," she asked with a slight frown.

"I'm fine, Granger,” he huffed, going back to his work. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him.

"What now?" he hissed and she furrowed her brow, her eyes searching his for a few seconds.

"What is it? What’s bothering you?”

"Fuck off, Granger," he snapped again and dipped his quill in his small pot of ink.

"Being a bitter, proud old sod will get you nowhere in life," she continued, her tone collected but firm.

“Who has the displeasure of taking you to this reunion anyways?”

"I'm not going with anyone," she answered.

"What, you mean Weasley has yet again been too stupid to ask you to the ball?" he remarked.

"No. I wouldn't have gone with him even if he did ask me; although I do have a feeling he might do something stupid tonight," she grimaced a little.

“Yes, well, just be careful. We don’t know who is following us yet, and it could be anyone in that room tonight”

"Seamus did actually end up marrying one of the Patil sisters and she's heavily pregnant. Lavender Brown saw her dress being made in her shop the other day. The poor woman is predicted to look ‘like a giant pink whale’," she recalled.

Draco raised his eyebrows as he listened to her complimenting and bitching about all her all school friends, glad that she really did seem to be recovering.

“Oh my god,” she said suddenly, glancing at her watch “look at the time! Fuck, I think I need to get going, Malfoy, I only came to get my phone”

"We need to meet up for lunch tomorrow to discuss going up to Rome to check on the records for Orion Black. I'll call you in the morning after I've signed those papers for my new flat," she informed and turned on her heel to leave just turning to wave to him before she disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

 

"Having fun?" Hermione laughed, watching Dean come back from the balcony looking thoroughly kissed for the third time that night.

"Hermione,” he greeted, kissing her delicately on the cheek, one hand resting on the bare skin in the small of her back “you are looking particularly ravishing tonight”

“Thank you, but your supposedly irresistible charm does not, and will never work on me," she grinned.

"It was worth a try. Why is Ron glaring at me?" he asked and she looked sideways to find her ex-fiancé doing exactly that.

"We broke up”

"Really? I thought you guys were like seconding Harry and Ginny on King and Queen of the wizarding world,” Dean frowned, surprised. The newspapers hadn’t gotten their hands on the news of their split yet, so it actually made sense that Dean would be unaware of it.

"Unfortunately not. And he still doesn’t like seeing me with other men”

Dean quirked the side of his mouth, gently bumping her cheekbone with his knuckle affectionately

"If it’s any consolation, you are better off without each other. You never were much good for each other. I never thought you were much of a match”

“Yes, well, you and everyone else that knew us,” she sighed again, taking his hand and pulling him softly out to the floor to dance slowly.

"You grew,” he stated, and she raised her eyebrows at him, her red painted lips curving in a smile of amusement.

"No Dean, I shrank," she replied sarcastically, one of his hands still resting on her spine, fingers playing a soft pattern against her skin, the other resting in her own, fingers laced together, her other hand splayed gently against his shoulder.

"I’d have thought you’d have brought Malfoy tonight, seeing as you’re single now”

“It’s strictly professional,” she said firmly, not deterring Dean’s expression of mirth.

"But you do like him," he assumed, and she frowned.

"Never," she hissed playfully.

"Don't deny it Hermione, you like Draco Malfoy," he teased her. She rolled her eyes and let out a small breathy laugh, dropping her head to his shoulder, shaking it against him.

"Can I cut in?" a sharper voice sounded from beside them and Hermione froze in Dean's arms.

"Ron,” Dean said, pausing the dancing for a moment, although one of his hands remained around Hermione’s waist “it isn't really a good time, unless of course, our fine young lady here _wants_ to dance with you," Dean said, looking sideways at her. She smiled a little, and shook her head.

"No, thank you. I’m already dancing with someone,” she said taking Dean’s hand and pulling him away from Ron towards the drink stand.

“You alright?” he asked, leading her to a table by the fire after they had collected two glasses of champagne.

"Yes. It will take a little time, but I’m okay”

"Alright, but seriously, who've you come with?"

"No one asked me and I certainly wasn't going to make the same mistake of coming with McLaggen again; he kisses like a pucker fish," she said, cringing slightly at the thought. Dean chuckled again.

"The rumours are true then, he really is just a pretty face," he smirked and gazed off into the distance for a little while as a comfortable silence settled between them. It only took a few seconds and Hermione felt stupid for believing that she could enjoy a single moment of calm with one of her best friends as a loud, high pitched scream echoed through the manor house.

“Fuck,” Dean growled, standing up with her and searching the room, now in disarray as everyone stopped and began panicking slightly.

“Ron, keep these people in here, get them contained. Ginny, help him,” she instructed, pulling rank. They both nodded at her, immediately doing as they were told, all their differences aside.

“You’re forensics, I’m going to need you,” she said quickly, taking Dean’s hand and dragging him across the room, her gown flowing around her feet as the adrenaline kicked in, people pointing her in the direction of the commotion. They made quick work of the stairs, ducking into every room along the hallway with wide, calculated eyes and fast breaths, their wands at the ready. They got to the final room on the left of the corridor before she halted on her feet in the doorway, gasping at the scene before her.

Writing on the wall in blood read 'you'll be next, mudbloods'. Underneath it, Romilda Vane lay lifeless, dressed to the nines with her throat slit clean.

"Get Malfoy down here now. Block the room off, Neville,” she said, feeling her other colleague catching up with them and laying eyes on the scene from behind her “no one gets in here and no one leaves this house, do you hear me? _No one leaves_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a crime writer, so I'm sorry if this whole thing seems a bit choppy or fragmented. It comes together more in the following chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where the fuck have you been?" Hermione demanded as Malfoy entered.

"Granger, please calm down”

The lack of surprise or empathy in his blue eyes reminded her of who he was, at least on the surface. Besides, this was their job, whether they knew the victim or not. Malfoy was just better at switching off emotion than she was.

"So now they're trying to point the finger in my direction. Wonderful”

"What the hell do you mean? It's not you lied on the floor in a pool of blood, its Vane”

She was breathless in her reply, gesturing wildly in the direction of the cold, dead body, refusing to look down at it more often than she had to, the wine in her stomach causing her head to spin, the added catalyst of a corpse meaning she had to try and push away a distasteful sensation of nausea in her throat.

"Don't you remember our second year?” he said blandly, already moving around the room carefully, cataloguing the scene, his mind working the way that it was trained to “you three little shits found Mrs Norris petrified and then the crowd from dinner found you. I said-"

"You'll be next Mudbloods. The dominant unsub is someone who was there that night”

He crouched finally beside the body.

“But that’s half the school,” she swallowed heavily, drawing in a sharp intake of breath and mirroring him on the other side of the corpse, her hands reaching behind her to tie her hair back so as not to contaminate the evidence too much.

“Well we need to photograph this and move our trip to Rome up to tomorrow; no more parties or reunions. We need to catch this twisted asshole," she said quietly, more to herself than anything. He raised his eyebrows distractedly, glancing up at her as a frown creased his brow and he pulled silicone gloves onto his long, pale fingers. He reached down and slipped the designer shoe from Romilda’s foot.

“What?” she asked curiously as he shuffled closer to the limb, gently taking the lifeless appendage in his hand and using two of his fingers to part Romilda’s toes. Between them, droplets of dried blood and crusted cruor clotted, although arid, clearly recent; at least three hours old.

“Look at her clothes. They’re completely clean and barely creased. Look at _your_ dress,” he said, nodding at her abdomen “you’ve been dancing and moving around for the past two hours; it’s creased. Her clothes should be the same if she’d been here with you”

“She’s been dressed by somebody else and she wasn’t here at the ball,” Hermione followed him. He nodded, and for a moment, a new thought flitted across his calculated expression, and he lifted Romilda’s dress up to her stomach, revealing the faint hue of smudged red on tanned, unblemished skin, stains in formations that dripped downward. He also tugged slightly on the neckline of the garment, showing the slight gathering of dried blood in the dip of her collar bone.

“She was dressed in a hurry, the dress doesn’t match the shoes, and her make up is clumsy and half finished-”

“She wasn’t killed here. She didn’t attend the ball, and she was naked and upright when she was attacked, and it was clumsily cleaned off her body; she was probably naked at the time, which means she was comfortable with the unsub. She let him in… we’ll probably also find evidence of sexual activity”

“But why would the unsub try to clean her body and dress her up? Couldn’t they have just left her in her apartment and drawn the spectacle there?”

“You’re all here tonight,” he replied, holding out a hand to help her stand back up to her full height “almost everyone we know in one place, having fun, getting drunk. It’s a message. The press haven’t been publishing this widely enough, the gag order we put out means that the killer isn’t getting enough attention; the unsubs wanted to remind everyone of how unsafe they are, of how this kind of thing can happen even when the Ministry’s top aurors are in the vicinity. This is supposed to scare people enough to get them talking”

“So we tighten the gag order then. We make sure the unsubs barely get talked about, make them angrier so they get clumsier”

“This is what I mean though. _This_ is clumsy. This isn’t the calculated psychopath we’ve been dealing with so far”

“You think this was done by the submissive?” Hermione raised her eyebrows. He nodded solemnly, turning again with his hands in the pockets of his pea coat, eyes reading the words on the wall again.

“Whoever did this is an incompetent buffoon. Its bullshit. But-”

“It got the job done, it will irritate the dominant unsub, but its okay because it got the intended outcome. People are scared. People are angry. What now?”

“Go home, Granger. You’ve been drinking, you’re upset, and you’re tired. I’ll finish up here. I’ll call you in the morning”

She nodded, the exhaustion in her bones and the numbness of her lips letting her know that it really was time for her to get horizontal. And the sadness gathering slowly in her chest for the loss of yet another childhood friend was aching to be sobbed out into a pillow. She contemplated, for a second, leaving without another word or interaction, but her body was calling for her to do something else, anything. So she sighed again, lifting a hand to cradle the back of Malfoy’s neck, and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.

He let out a quiet, shuddery breath and closed his eyes to her touch. She knew he was a lot more affected by these events than he was outwardly revealing and she paused for a moment, before she pulled away, brushing past him softly and turning to Neville where he was stood in the doorway. She signalled to him that he could collect the body for post mortem, and then left.

"Romilda Vane,” Longbottom spoke a moment later, stepping finally into the room “isn't she that girl who tried to drug Harry with love potion in sixth year?"

Draco began to inspect the scene more closely. On a table in the corner of the room, there was a small whiskey glass. He the bent down right below it and searched the soft black carpet for anything out of place. Nothing. He got down on his hands and knees, lowering himself onto his stomach and peering under the cabinet.

There, in clear, clean sight was a single strand of coarse, red hair.

* * *

 

"How many people were at the party with red hair and a naturally submissive personality?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked slowly in his prominent Grenadian accent. They had made a quick visit to the Auror department the following morning before they were about to make their visit to Rome, and were currently filling the Minister in on the recent developments.

"That's the thing, Minister, there was only one redhead at that party and there is no way on earth that he could be linked to any one of these attacks and murders. He’s too stupid to even bother attempting a mass murder mystery and he isn’t naturally submissive. And the unsub wouldn’t have been at the party, because Vane wasn’t killed there, only posed there, and he was in the ballroom almost all night”

"I assume you're referring to Mr Ron Weasley. Do not think so quickly, Draco; Weasley was a very accomplished Auror before his injury-"

"Accomplished my arse,” he snorted, earning himself a glare from Granger “besides, if the man was so god damned clever then why did they stick him in the misuse of muggle artefacts office? Why not the department of mysteries? If he's so bloody accomplished then why isn't he earning a million galleons a year as an unspeakable?"

Kingsley listened to Draco with a bored look on his face, rolling his eyes and tutting before adjusting himself in his chair, undoing his over-robes and shrugging out of them, leaving him in a patterned, mauve, velvet blazer and dark red slacks.

"I have heard the same story over and over again, Draco. And now is not the time to discuss the mental abilities of someone who does not even operate within this department and whose situation has absolutely nothing to do with you. This the time for you to answer my question appropriately, leaving out your arrogant disregard for the rules. Now I will ask you once more, do you believe that Mr Weasley could have been in that room at any point before, after or during Miss Vane's murder?" Kingsley retorted, leaving Draco speechless for a few seconds, causing Granger to have to cut in and elaborate.

"The red hair Draco found at the scene places Ron in that room at some point during the night Romilda was killed; it matches with the DNA we have on record. We found the unsub's unidentified DNA again on the other whiskey glasses and a single finger print which we believe is also the unsub’s, was found on Romilda's face. Since Ron's DNA was also found in that room and no one else attending the party can be placed at the scene, we cannot rule him out as a suspect. I trust him with my life though, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that he’s innocent. Thomson and Parkinson are questioning him as we speak"

Kinglsey nodded, threw a warm smile at Granger and a soft nod toward Draco, and left the room. She sighed and pushed her hair back out of her face tiredly.

"Malfoy, may I suggest something? You might not like it very much, but I think we could really use his help…”

“Granger, just spit it out”

“I think we should call Remus Lupin”

* * *

 

"Orion Black. Now that's a name I haven't heard in a very long time," he said as he looked back and forth between Hermione and Draco. Teddy was asleep in the other room, having just been dropped off by Andromeda.

The death of Tonks had left an obvious toll on his appearance. His face was still as handsome as it had always been, but there were wrinkles now, creases at the corners of his eyes that told the tales of time. His hair had a lot more strands of grey mixing with the soft, sandy colour of its natural state. His eyes looked tired but remained famously soft and compassionate, despite being haunted and lined with dark shadows. Her heart ached for him.

A lot of her knowledge of Remus’ past came solely from assumption, observation, and instinct. She had known very little about him when she had first met him, but when she’d found out about him being a werewolf, it had caused her to want to know as much as she could.

Of course, it wasn’t as though she could have just asked him outright, but the summer following the revelation, had allowed her the stay at Grimmauld Place, which was the perfect opportunity for her to watch and learn him. It was somewhat difficult to really map out his true self when he was constantly in the company of Sirius Black, but after further thought, she realised that in itself, the fact that he spent the majority of his time with his childhood friend, was a vital piece of the puzzle.

After that, it wasn’t hard for her to see that Remus was helplessly in love with Sirius, and that it was mostly likely a reciprocated notion. Her understanding of the concept of soulmates was limited to what little had been written in the books of wizards, and the muggle version of such things was far too fictional and romanticised to be reliable. But, she had always thought, if the concept of soulmates did exist, then Sirius and Remus were rather solid proof of it. Often she had caught herself watching their encounters, fascinated by how they moved together, so casually in love, so deeply and comfortably in tune with each other, so trusting and understanding of each other – she had never quite seen anything like it.

And then Sirius had died, and she never thought she would see Remus smile again. Of course, Tonks had been amazing and funny and indomitably strong, and Remus had very clearly adored her deeply, regardless of the fact that he would never love another human being the way that he had loved Sirius. Teddy was the embodiment of Tonks and Remus’ personalities combined; the very formation of astute intelligence and attitude, but he would never know his mother, and Remus, it seemed, was doomed to live a life without the people he had cared so profoundly for. Teddy, she knew, was what kept him alive. If he didn’t have that little bundle of ridiculousness, Remus would have killed himself almost immediately after Tonks’ death.

"May I inquire as to why his name has come up after all these years, Hermione?" Remus asked softly and she could not help but feel happy and warm at the kind, compassionate voice of her old friend.

"I assume you heard about Cho Chang's death up in Cannock three houses away from the other victim? Well, DNA at the scene of Cho's murder is extremely similar to Black DNA; similar enough to belong to Sirius’ father, Orion Black. I know he’s dead, but we are exploring every possibility here…" she trailed off slightly and Remus looked at her with slight confusion; like he was searching for something.

“Sirius hated his father. You lived at Grimmauld Place, Hermione, you would have heard his nightmares coming from our room at night. He never talked about him, even when I pushed for it”

“I’m really sorry to come to you with this, Remus. I know it’s… it’s not easy to talk about Sirius, but anything you can think of, anything at all, is helpful”

"Before Tonks died, she received an anonymous letter," Remus said slowly. Immediately, Draco and Hermione sat up, the information prickling at their attention “here, I'll read it out," he said, standing up to go into a cabinet draw, pulling out a worn piece of parchment.

"Nymphadora,

I feel it my duty to make one final attempt at pleading with you to you come to your senses and join your aunts in their quests with The Dark Lord for purity and peace amongst our tainted wizard race. I disowned my…”

Remus broke off for a second, swallowing tightly and pursing his lips together. She’d seen that look on him before; he was such a patient person, so tolerant and reasonable, but when he was angry, he really became extremely dangerous, which was mostly when someone hurt or insulted the people who had been there for him as a teenager and growing up.

“-my idiotic son for his betrayals, but I beg you now, end your marriage and go to Malfoy manor where you will be kept from harm’s way.”

Hermione sighed and moved to sit beside him, placing a hand on his knee, squeezing gently as he continued to try and calm himself.

"So you think this was sent to Tonks from beyond the grave or something?" Malfoy asked, frowning.

"Draco, I assure you I do not believe it possible for somebody to receive a letter from a dead person," Remus answered, the composure returning to his voice.

"But how else could Orion have sent Tonks this letter?”

“He could have left it with someone to send to her at a later date? It could be someone signing under his name? There are loads of ways”

"Well, I do have a few theories and I wish to test them out but I will need your help, Hermione, and I trust that you now need mine as well - or is my knowledge still too 'ridiculous' for you, Mr Malfoy?" he said with a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Hermione coughed to hide her amusement and Draco scowled.

"I am no longer the prejudiced, arrogant young teenager I once was, Lupin; or should I call you moony?" Malfoy asked, his scowl forming into something of his own smirk that no one else could rival. Remus looked unaffected by the jab, and continued to appear mildly amused.

"I can see that, Draco. Stop looking at me like that, Hermione, I am fine, honestly. I think we should start in Rome; you can look at the archives and the family tree and I will travel to Orion's burial place, I am sure I can find what I am looking for there. Give me a few minutes to get Teddy’s things together, and then we can go”

* * *

 

"He's just as annoying as I remember him to be," Draco grumbled, as he and Granger walked across a small stone square. She had her curls pulled back loosely in a high pony tail and was dressed in a white vest tucked into light blue denim high wasted mini shorts with a pair of dark brown sandals. Malfoy was wearing a blue muggle t-shirt and denim jeans with dark blue converse trainers. They looked like a simple muggle couple enjoying the sights and landscapes of the old city. Of course, both were nervous.

On the way to the hotel they'd booked for their three day stay, they had both established that someone was watching them again and that they had been followed. So naturally, they had their wands accessible and their attention hyper-attuned to their surroundings.

"Oh don't be so childish, Draco, he's the nicest man I ever met," she scolded.

"You know what I think, Granger? I think you’ve got a crush," he teased. She narrowed her eyes at him and began to walk faster so that he was running to catch up with her.

"Bit touchy today are we?"

"You're even more annoying when you aren't yelling mudblood at me, all your other material is boring”

"What have I told you about saying that word?" he snapped and she raised her eyebrows, looking at him sideways as they walked. She frowned but looked very angry when he grabbed her arm and pulled her in behind a stone pillar so no one could hear what they were talking about.

"How many times do you want me to tell you, Granger? How many times do I have to save your life before you see that I’m _trying_?” he demanded, a slight tinge of pink appearing amongst his pale white cheeks as his frustration shone through.

"If you keep saving my life to prove a point then don't fucking bother-"

"You think I did that to prove a point? Surely you're more intelligent than that, Granger. Use your fucking brain," he hissed, pulling them in further as some passers-by began to look for the source of angry English accents. She stared at him, their heights level now she'd grown so much.

"You care," she breathed out in conclusion after several seconds of searching his face. He looked away from her, taking on a particularly uncomfortable stance. She could not help reaching for his cheek and pulling it sideways back towards her. Once again, she was surprised at how warm his skin was under the touch of her hand, and how much her brown skin contrasted against his pale skin. It actually looked rather lovely.

He still would not look into her eyes however, and his jaw line was hard, his expression stony. She knew he was pissed off with her for uncovering his pretence so simply after all these years.

"Look at me," she breathed again, her breath ghosting softly across his face as one of the silky blonde stray strands of hair flickered against it. Slowly he brought his blue eyes back to hers.

"Thank you. If you hadn’t come half way across the world chasing loose ends, I’d still be in that place. I will never have the words for how grateful I am”

“I was just doing my job-”

“No. It was more than that. You’re one of my best friends, Draco. I hope you know that”

“Don’t-”

“Yes, I will. I would not be here if it weren’t for you. Thank you”

He stared at her, before sighing, his shoulders dropping slightly. She smiled and took a step forward, wrapping her arms around him in the same movement. She tried to push down the fear niggling in her gut. The fear that followed her everywhere she went. After a couple of seconds, his own arms wrapped around her waist in turn, tighter than was probably necessary, and she knew another boundary had crumbled between them.

* * *

 

Strangely, the rest of the day was not an awkward one, as they continued their undercover ruse as muggle sightseers and visited a very old but beautiful building with large stone pillars and grand architectural value. It only took them a few seconds to get past the muggles and they were in a kind of underground vault filled with cabinets covered in thousands of tomes and rolls of parchment. For the only archive in the world that knew of wizards, the security on the place wasn't very tight at all and it was eerily easy for them to enter without permission.

Granger walked the isles with an expression of wander on her face as she looked around at just how many different categories of information this single underground room held. Draco watched her in amusement as the struggle not to reach out and touch something she wasn't supposed to was obvious within her wide brown eyes.

"Finally found a mission that you actually like, Granger?" he said, his voice laced with its usual hint of arrogant sarcasm. She rolled her eyes, his tone bringing her somewhat out of the information fuelled trance she had slipped into so easily. Then she remembered her task and immediately began to flick through the sheets she could reach.

"D, E, F… oooh! They even have a record on Flitwick!... Yes, yes, I know. Get only what we need and nothing else," she rolled her eyes when he raised his eyebrows at her, going back to the alphabetically ordered scriptures. He joined her in her search but pulled to a halt when he turned the corner and encountered a huge metal gate protecting a very large section of further archives. He took out his wand slowly and pointed it at the feeble muggle lock.

"Alohamora," he whispered and the gate clanged very slightly before opening grandly by itself. He stepped in and immediately felt magic in the air surrounding him. He suddenly felt a little bit better as he'd been stuck in the muggle world all morning and despite the disappearing of all his previous prejudices, he would always feel slightly uncomfortable with all things muggle.

He looked down the long isle ahead of him and automatically sprinted athletically towards the tall cabinet marked with a fading letter O. He turned right and walked down it, following the alphabet as his pale fingers brushed lightly against paper, parchment, scrolls, scripts and volumes. Eventually, he found the section he was looking for and searched with the tip of his wand for the name he was actually looking for. He levitated the necessary piece of parchment and just as he grabbed it in his hand, a hiss of his name alerted him to Granger's presence at the end of the isle.

He was about to make a snarky comment but she moved quickly towards him and pushed him up against the bookcase with a soft thud, her finger going over his mouth to signal him to be quiet as her breathing seemed to hitch in her mouth; Draco felt it once again.

They were not alone.

She barely registered the closeness of their bodies as the fear gripped her heart and her pulse quickened rapidly. When they thought nothing was moving, she felt Draco's strong arm wrap around the upper part of her waist, pulling her away from the book case and up the isle to duck behind one of the overturned desks. They slid down dark wood as their bottoms hit the floor silently and both breathed heavily, pulsing with the sudden influx of adrenaline.

"Who the hell is it?" she asked as quietly as was possible. And once again they found their fingers threaded together.

"Should we really be avoiding contact with this idiot?” his breath was still laboured as was hers and the only thing still alerting them to their follower's menacing presence was the deafening silence and the usual sensation of eyes piercing their spines, bouncing off their skin and hitting the walls caving them into the dusty, decaying room.

"Count of three?" she breathed, accepting his unspoken suggestion to fight whomever was causing the two so much discomfort. He nodded softly and both pulled out their wands, turning fast to face the wood and very, very gradually pulling up in a crouching position until their heads were about to be shown above their cover.

"One," she breathed shakily. His hand tightened impossibly around hers, reassuring her at the last second.

"Two," he breathed back.

"Three,” they whispered together and shot up, pointing their wands ahead, slowly manoeuvring them cautiously around them, back to back, covering all areas and isles in sight. Then, out of the southern isle, a curse shot straight at Hermione and Draco yanked her out the way, the curse hitting the wall behind where she had been standing a second previous and dissolving as it burst a small dent into the stone.

"How many times do I have to save your ass?" he snapped, but it was her turn to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him sideways as a green flash of light nearly hit him.

"How many times do I have to save yours?" she retorted, but both shut up again as three separate curses came flying towards them from all directions. Hermione managed to block one and Draco blocked the other two as they started to shoot spells back down the three offending isles with yet still no indication as to who was attacking them.

After a couple of minutes of hot, fast duelling, and the alarming damage of what was a good thousand years of preserved architecture, Hermione managed to stun the more accomplished assaulter and began to work on the other one as Draco fought the other two. A blue flash of light brushed passed her ear and she twirled angrily, shooting a stun at her opponent just as the desk they'd been hiding behind shattered and blew up in front of them. She screamed as Draco pushed her to the floor, their bodies slamming onto stone with a deafening cash as more wood flew everywhere.

She heard him grunt in pain from beside her, his leg out at a funny angle. She felt panic fill her, a warm trickle of blood falling down the left side of her face, but she ignored it and forced her body to sit up and grab her wand from near her foot.

"Can you walk?" she half sobbed and he looked up at her.

“I don’t know,” he coughed, covered in dust and stone. She huffed, moving properly from underneath the rubble, shaking it off, and taking his arm, draping it over her shoulders, her own arm going around his waist and dragging him to his feet.

“I think it’s – it’s just sprained,” he said in a hushed voice, experimentally putting some weight on it. He winced, but evened out the weight on both feet, slipping out of her grasp and standing on his own two feet.

"Ready?" he asked, still clutching his wand and glancing at her. She wiped the dust from her vision, and nodded, swallowing, still panting heavily, but newly determined.

"Let's go," she replied and they raised their wands yet again, stepping over the rubble.

Immediately they separated down two different isles as Hermione desperately tried to grasp that Gryffindor courage she was supposed to be famous for. All her fear dissolved and transformed into anger and frustration, and all she wanted was to catch this bastard and see what the fuck he thought he was playing at.

As though the universe had heard her thoughts, a crash echoed around the large room as the follower fell over something and she caught it in mid drop. She saw where his body was most likely to be and just as she shot a curse at him, Malfoy's curse joined with hers and hit an invisible body full pelt. The magical presence around them weakened slightly but both partners knew better than to relax. Hermione walked towards where she could feel the weakened presence coming from and dropped into a crouching position beside it.

"Revelio won't lift the invisibility spell; it's of their own making," Malfoy spoke as he limped towards her, panting, nursing a stitch and trying to get his heart rate back to normal.

"I recognise it,” she looked up at Malfoy with a minx-ish look in her brown eyes, lifting her wand and lowering her glare back down at where the offender was lying invisible in the ground.

“Toujours Pur," she said firmly and sure enough, the spell lifted and the person who was really lying on the ground made her breath catch in her throat. Her lungs seemed to close off and her eyes widened in shock as she fell back onto her buttocks and crawled as far away from the body as she could until her back was up against a cabinet.

"Well shit. Which one is it?”

“P-Percy?” Granger says, disbelieving of her own voice “holy shit, that’s Percy Weasley”


	4. Chapter 4

Malfoy aimed a hard kick at Percy Weasley's ribs, clearly increasingly pissed off.

"I'll ask you one more time; who the fuck are you working for?" he hissed, aiming another kick at his nose. Hermione cringed as she heard the loud crunch of the bone breaking and blood started to pour out.

"I can't say anything!” Percy screamed in alarm, holding his hands up where he was laid “the bonds are stronger than the unbreakable vow. I can't tell you anything else!"

Malfoy growled in frustration, going to hit him again, but Hermione put herself between them quickly, staring him down, a fierce look in her eyes. He glared back for a few moments before he looked away and nodded curtly. She got to her knees in front of Percy and pointed her wand at him, muttering a spell designed to reveal any long-lasting incantations lingering in his DNA. Immediately, her eyes widened and she slowly raised them to meet Percy's pleading ones.

"I swear, Hermione, I have no idea what's been happening to me”

"There are traces of the Imperius curse on him. He's had no idea what he's been doing. Percy, do you think you might have been following Draco and I? Do you think you might have been passing information onto someone about the progress of our case?" she asked gently, pushing back a strand of red hair from his sweaty forehead, his eyelids drooping. He swallowed hard.

"I can't- I- d- I don't know!" he shouted, clearly extremely distressed. She looked up at Draco once before looking back down.

"I'm sorry, this might hurt a little," she told him softly, placing her hands on either side of his head and closing her eyes, concentrating. Flashes of thousands of different colours swarmed past her. Shouts flooded her senses, and she knew where she was immediately; she was at the battle of Hogwarts. It was not what she needed at that point in time, and she knew how this scene ended, so she pushed through it and barged through into another scene; this was what she was looking for.

A man with a hood on was stood in a moonlit alleyway up ahead and she felt Percy walking towards him as another burst of light hit them and the man muttered something before speaking more loudly.

"I want you to follow them. I want you to report to me when they get back to London; I want to know everything they find and then I'll kill Parkinson if she's made any mistakes with Chang. Don't try and get rid of any evidence though; Hermione is too clever for that, she'll only figure it out. Now leave," the man ordered and they exited the scene. She tried to get something else on the hooded figure, but certain walls prevented her from seeing anything else. She pulled out of Percy's mind to find him twitching in pain. She couldn't help it, he was so upset and messed up. She flicked her wand to fix his ribs and then pulled his upper body into her kneeling form as she held him tightly; letting healers Draco had called fix the rest of him.

"I'm not happy with you," she stated, looking up at a stony looking Malfoy. He shrugged his shoulders

"I don't give a shit. Come on, you need to tell me what you just saw," he said, walking over to her and holding out his hand. She let the healer manoeuvre Percy away from her and took it. He pulled her to her feet, leading her out of the door with his hand resting in the small of her back. The moment they were in an office that had been reserved for them, and the door was closed, she walked up to him and slapped him hard across the face.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing? He was under the Imperius curse, all you had to do was check and see; you didn't need to beat him up”

“You didn’t have a shield up when I left you to get into the restricted archives,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her, touching the reddened side of his face, and wetting his lips.

"We aren't talking about me," she said incredulously.

"We're always talking about you, Granger! Did you ever think about what could happen if I _lost you_? This case would be a fucking nightmare. With you gone the murders will go up to one a day"

"Are you actually having a go at me because I wasn't keeping myself safe? You're so hypocritical, Malfoy; you're just as fucking reckless as me and don't you dare try and deny it," she hissed back and he laughed bitterly, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"You still don't fucking get it do you, Granger? I couldn't give a shit about myself," he insisted, and she faltered slightly, frowning, before shaking it off.

"This doesn't matter right now,” she spoke stonily, breathing deeply and moving to sit down; they were both still covered in dirt and dust, and hadn’t tended to their own injuries yet “what matters is that we still don’t know who the dominant unsub is,”

“But we know that the he was the one that was having us followed,” he sighed, leaning against the desk in front of her.

“And Pansy Parkinson… Draco, she killed Cho"

* * *

 

"Malfoy! _Malfoy_!" Hermione screamed, running down the corridor after her partner as fast as she could, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her “you’re being unprofessional about this. You can’t let this jeopardise the case”

“You think I'm being _unprofessional_?" he drawled in outrage.

“Yes. Your involvement with Cho is affecting your working behaviour. You need to stop beating people up when we don’t know the whole story"

"Lunch," he said and she frowned, bemused.

"What?" she snapped, confused by his sudden lack of comprehension. He growled in frustration.

" _Lunch_. Let’s get lunch. I’m hungry," he hissed and she opened her mouth, still frowning deeply, and taken aback by his sudden change of direction.

“Well come on then!" he exclaimed impatiently, and she blinked once to find him already walking back the other way in a fast stride.

* * *

 

"Sorry," she heard him mumble as they sat down at a table outside the first restaurant they found. She didn't dwell on his apology; it would only rattle him further. So she accepted it silently and called a waiter over to them quickly.

"A large bowl of cheesy nachos and two coffees, please”

"It's dangerous," he commented curtly and she looked confused again.

“Nachos are dangerous?”

“No. How well you know me. That’s dangerous”

“How well I know you is not a dangerous thing, Draco. Your mother knows you better than anyone, and you don't consider that dangerous”

He didn't say anything back because once again, she was right. Granger knew almost everything about him from his favourite colour all the way to his favourite foods (which did include cheesy nachos).

"Do my ears deceive me? I hear another silence indicating the inevitable truth of my words," she teased him. He glared at her, crossing his arms over his chest and sulking.

"Pansy killed Cho, but you have to understand, she didn’t know she was doing it. She wasn’t in control. When I entered Percy’s memory, there was a man. He was about 6ft2,” she began telling him properly this time, now he’d calmed down.

“Draco, he _knows_ me. He used my first name. He put Percy under the curse, and told him to follow us and then he said that if Pansy had made any slip ups with Cho then he was going to punish her. When was the last time you spoke to her?"

He sighed, and she could tell that he was still trying to sort his head out.

"She was skinny. Skinnier than I'd ever seen her. Even Blaise commented on it and then she got all defensive; storming out. I followed her and she was crying, going on about revenge and not really making much sense. The last time I saw her was before she was sent in with Thomson to question Ron Weasley, and she didn't look much better. I _do_ remember going to comment on her black eye and split lip, but she went into interrogation before I could say anything," he finished.

Hermione took a deep breath, leaning her head forwards so her hair fell over her face. She had a tendency to do that when she was stressed, and he really disliked that he actually found it endearing.

This was not like him; it wasn't healthy. This thing that kept creeping its way into his chest, these new mannerisms, saving her life all the time, staring at her, and cold showers every time she showed up in something remotely revealing. He was a little annoyed with himself for allowing these changes to happen, he was _not allowed_ to have feelings for Granger; she was bushy haired, bucked teethed, know-it-all Granger.

Except she wasn't now. To him, she was no longer the person he had known throughout their childhood. She meant something completely different to him now. It was beyond frustrating that he seemed to actually, dare he say it, _like_ her now.

"Sort yourself out, Granger," he told her in a softer voice, and she lifted her head a little.

"You can’t talk,” she reminded him, squinting at him through one eye, the sun shining down on them fiercely as the plate of nachos was placed between them, and she took one, looking utterly exhausted and miserable. He smiled at her, winking at her affectionately. She smiled back feebly, puffing out air through her cheeks. This whole thing was a giant mess, and one they were still very far from tidying.

* * *

 

"We have the last place that Orion Black was documented to be in before he died, and we'll check it out tomorrow. You should get some sleep, Remus. We had Percy and the two other perps that attacked us apparated back to London for processing. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, actually. I went to the first house Orion lived in with his parents up until he was seventeen. I found some letters with no names all talking about this master plan. I'll tell you more about it in the morning; I don't want to unsettle you. They weren't signed but they were stamped to go to St Austell in Cornwall," he informed. Hermione felt something flash at the back of her brain, a small voice. She could have sworn she recognised something about the last twenty four hours that could be vital, but she just couldn't place it.

"Thank you, Remus. We'll talk more in the morning. Draco and I will finish up here in a second"

When he was out of earshot, Hermione looked back at Draco with a small grimace.

"What, Granger?" he asked, sounding a little concerned. She sighed and pushed the hair away from her face, packing all the paper work they'd been working on away.

"Something's bugging me. I feel like I'm missing something; an important detail. It's driving me mad"

"What else is wrong? You've been off all day”

"It’s nothing-"

"Granger, fess up”

She paused for a moment, blinking downward and ducking her chin slightly, wetting her lips and swallowing a lump in her throat.

"I miss my parents. I miss Harry and Ginny. I miss Ron. I miss Friday Weasley dinners, I miss George leaving stink bombs under my chair and Charlie’s hugs. I miss having a life outside of work"

He stood up from the bottom of her bed where they’d been working, and walked towards her with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He tucked a curl behind her ear and brushed a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, looking at her with an unidentifiable expression. His touch on her skin was feather light, and her eyes fluttered closed in response to it.

He sighed and pulled her in softly, one hand cradling the back of her head. Her arms wrapped around his waist tightly as she slowly, quietly broke down, sobbing into his neck.

“I thought I was going to die,” she gasped softly, her lips moving against his pulse point where her face was buried “I thought – I didn’t think anyone was coming for me. The statistics of abducted people found after the first twenty four hours of going missing are ridiculously disheartening, and all I kept thinking was that I would miss it all. What if I didn’t know Harry and Ginny’s children? What if I never got to tell Ron that he’s my best friend? What if I never got to hug my parents again? What if – fuck, what if I didn’t get to see you again?”

“Granger,” he tried to pause her destructive train of thought but she kept going.

“I gave up. I was so tired, and I gave up. I didn’t – there was no way you’d be able to find me, and I just stopped fighting. I – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to articulate how important it is to me that you didn’t give up”

“Never. I’ll never give up on you”

* * *

 

Next day, Draco woke to a hand gently nudging his bicep. He drew in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut to ensure zero bleariness before allowing them to flutter open. He could feel dried tear tracks on his cheeks, but he wasn’t sure why they were there. Then his taste buds woke up and he cringed at the bitter taste of alcohol on his breath and on the roof of his mouth. It was that that alerted him of the most painful headache he had ever experienced.

He could feel the blood pounding painfully in his ears and brain was throbbing, as though it was trying to pump itself hard enough to escape the confounds of his skull. His mouth was unbelievably dry and his limbs felt lethargic and heavy.

"Granger?" he asked, immediately regretting it when he tried sitting up and forced himself into a sitting position on the sofa, trying to stop his vision from swimming like the whole room was under water.

When he focused properly, his eyes settled on her, dressed in her denim shorts again, with a blank white crop top, and combat boots on her feet. She was crouched in front of him with her hands on his knees, holding herself up in a way that wasn't going to freeze the joint in her damaged knee. He looked down at her with one eye open as he ruffled his hair, trying to place an image of what had happened after he’d fallen asleep on the sofa.

He remembered a lot of firewhiskey, but that much was obvious anyway.

"What time is it?”

"Eight in the morning. Remus isn't up yet. I think we caught him at a bad time, it's the full moon this weekend," she told him, and he held out a hand for her. She took it, and he pulled them both to their feet, wincing as the bruises from their little adventure yesterday protested, and sharp pains shot along his ribs.

“Same,” she remarked, a look of sympathy fluttering across her face as she placed one hand on his bare torso to steady him, the other holding her wand as she muttered a couple of spells to ease the inflammation and dull the pain. He nodded his thanks at her, ignoring how soft and secure her hand was against his abdomen, momentarily touching her arm as he moved away to pull a semi-clean t-shirt over his head, searching for his cigarettes in the pocket of his Harrington.

“We’re going home today, aren’t we?” she asked, and he blinked the rest of the sleep from his eyes, sighing as he found his cigs and went to the balcony. She followed him as he lit up and leant over the railings.

“Yeah. Unless there’s anything you think we’ve missed here?”

“No. I think we’re done here. We’ll be more use to the case at home. We need to re-interview everyone we’ve got statements from”

“Shame, I was starting to like this place”

“Well, you know what they say, when in Rome”

* * *

 

Hermione had sent Remus home the moment he’d woken up, around an hour after they did, as he’d looked dead on his feet and kept jumping at the slightest sounds. Andromeda had Teddy for the weekend, and he would need to spend the hours leading up to the moon sleeping and eating. In his place, Hermione and Draco had taken the information he’d found for them, and were visiting the last place that Orion Black had been rumoured to be seen in before he’d died.

"Hello,” Hermione greeted, leaning over the reception desk slightly “I'm looking for… John Smith?"

"Signor Smith isn't taking any appointments today," the receptionist spoke in a heavy Italian accent, looking Hermione up and down with an expression of indifference on her face.

"Il mio nome è, Draco. So che avete istruzioni per spostarsi noi sul, ma abbiamo importanti affari con il signor Smith; e sarebbe di grande aiuto se si potesse spostare alcune cose intorno. Vorrei debito con tu un favore enorme,” Draco stepped forward, smiling.

“Fatto tu dire, Draco? Draco Malfoy?”

“Sì, amore mio. Vedere, noi praticamente sapere ogni altro già! E visto che facciamo, forse tu potrebbe aiutarci?”

“Jesus give me strength,” Hermione uttered under her breath “your Italian is awful”

“Tuo padre era anche abbastanza l'incantatore, singor Malfoy,” the woman remarked, catching Hermione’s attention again, as she stood fully and frowned, her hand going to the small of Draco’s back, stepping into his space, something prickling in her intuition.

"My father?" Malfoy asked, caught off guard slightly. Admittedly, it did not look good, Lucius Malfoy had been here before.

"Yes, your father. Lucius. He was just like you, the same eyes, I think. And you, si guarda familiare, avere noi ha incontrato?”

"Hermione Jean Granger. Piacere a incontrare tu”

"Davvero? Fresco. Lattina io ottenere il tuo autografo?”

"I tell you what, ‘ _amore mio_ ’,” Hermione said carefully, glancing at Draco’s suddenly suspicious expression “if you let us see Signor Smith, I'll set you up with Harry Potter”

The woman genuinely looked tempted, although she’d caught onto Hermione and Draco’s changed stance, and was growing cautious, torn between being star struck, and being on her guard about being investigated.

“Unfortunately, Signor Smith is very busy. He apologises for your inconvenience, but I will have to ask you to leave now”

“Something isn’t right,” Hermione whispered through her lips, barely moving them. Malfoy swallowed hard in acknowledgement and agreement as he slowly went for his wand where it sat in the back of his belt.

“Ciò che è lui cosi dannazione occupato con,” Draco demanded “che egli non può

compiere tempo per il piu ricco purosangue in europa e un cazzo principessa di guerra?”

“Again, your Italian is awful”

“Signor Smith is busy with many things,” the woman spoke, slowly getting up from her chair “cose di un non cosi compassionevole natura-”

“NO, DON’T!” Hermione screamed, moving to lurch over the desk to shield the woman, but Draco yanked her back, pulling them both to the floor as curses shot over their heads and the sound of the woman’s body hitting the floor echoed around the lobby. All that could be heard then was the sounds of their laboured breathing where they clutched each other in crouching positions. As the dust settled, they looked around, squinting through the cloud of dirt, standing slowly together, grips loosening but not relenting, lips parted. Hermione’s eyes stung with tears and her heart thudded hard against her chest.

“Upstairs,” Draco told her, and she swallowed, meeting his eyes for a moment before blinking, nodding squeezing his hand once before letting go as he jumped over the desk to examine the scene and confirm the death. Hermione ran up the stairs, pushing open every door she came to, finding most of the rooms totally deserted. As though the whole building had been left for quite some time.

Eventually, she came to a door at the end of the corridor that made her already defensive stance moreso. She swallowed hard and closed her fingers around a firearm she kept in a brown leather pouch on her hip, extracting it. The metal was cold and unforgiving in her palm as she lifted it very slowly in front of her along with her wand in her other hand.

She took slow, steady steps, breath hitching slightly in her throat, although her hands remained ever steady. She was now running solely on instinct and was working hard to calm herself so that the part of her mind trained with body to catch dark wizards, was shutting off the part of her that would resist a necessary kill.

When she reached the door, the wood slightly scratched and worn down with age, she was trying more than ever to calm herself down, trying to remember that this was the rush she loved about her job and this was what she was trained for. What she worked for.

She moved her foot forward a little and nudged the door slightly. It creaked, opening. The sun hit her full force through the large bay window as she flung herself around the door and raised both her weapons to full height, pointing the gun and her wand straight ahead of her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the scene registered with her, heart giving a dull thud and then speeding up again, the world around her spinning for a moment, alarm bells shooting through her blood as it ran cold, tears spilling over and rolling hot down her cheeks. Her brain registered Malfoy’s footsteps coming up the stairs behind her and she immediately tucked her weapons away, turning again to stop him before he had to see it.

He slammed into her however, and she struggled against him, trying to hold him back.

“Draco. Draco, please, let me take this one”

But he broke her hold and pushed past her, stepping fully over the threshold and stopping dead in his tracks, hand going to his mouth, two tears slipping down his cheeks, eyes blown wide, desperately trying to remember how to be professional, how to keep it together, how not to lose his mind on the spot.

But it was a pointless effort. Nailed to the wall behind a desk, body positioned like a crucifix, was Lucius Malfoy, a single word carved into his naked chest.

‘Traitor’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione totally has a mini crush on Narcissa, and can we really blame her? Also, I'm sorry its not a full sex scene, I'm not that good at that stuff, but I felt like I had to do something with all their tension. Let me know what you think :)  
> Dee xx

Draco felt as though he was floating.

Floating in a sort of fuzzy, foundationless limbo between reality, and a lot of bleary, vision obscuring light. He wasn’t sure at any one time, if he was awake or asleep, nor was he aware of where he was or what exactly he was doing.

He felt so weightless, like he was sleeping amongst the clouds. But inside all of the clouds, there was rain, dirt, and darkness, and its appearance created a false illusion of calm. He was constantly cold, constantly shivering. His bones felt as though they were about to snap, as though all his muscles had seized up and become useless. He had never felt so tired and yet so wired. Dead, but still breathing. Gone, but still present.

And his skin felt rough and numb, and he couldn’t bring himself to care whether his sore, tear encrusted eyelids were open or shut. Time came in slow lurches and soft pulls and each second ached continuously like the consistent pulse of blood behind an age old bruise.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to process it. How was he supposed to grieve for a man he had both idolised and hated for the majority of his life? A man who had subjected him to a life of bad decision making and poor judgement, fear and pain and far too much sacrifice. How was he supposed to compute the death of his own damn father?

He tried to remember what had happened after they’d found the body. He remembered trying to push himself to go about it the way he had been trained, the way his job demanded of him. He – Granger had been there. Granger had pulled him from the room and tried to get words out of him, or some sort of coherent notion. But he’d been catatonic. He’d just shut down.

And that was how he’d gotten here. At least, he thought so. He couldn’t be sure.

She hadn’t been into the room, but he could hear her moving about downstairs occasionally, when the numbness subsided for a few stolen moments at a time. He could hear the TV right now, but he very much doubted that she was really paying attention to what was on, most likely trying to make sense of the situation. She was also probably trying to consider unbiasedly whether this meant he should be taken off the case.

Greeted by a sudden urge to move, he slowly took his arms and hands from around his legs and flexed them. He moved his legs out in front of him gradually, moving his ankles in circular motions to stop the numbness as the tips of everything tingled through sudden gain of blood flow. He pushed up on his hands to try and lift himself but they were weak from lack of use and he collapsed again. Instead, he pushed up and leant more against the wall behind him. Eventually he managed to lift himself upwards, allowing his eyes to close momentarily before he drew in a sharp breath and pushed away from the wall. He took a step forwards and found he was okay to walk.

Quietly, he padded into the lounge, rolling his eyes when he found Granger curled up on the plush green leather of his sofa, hair waterfalling around her head.

He sighed and moved forward, crouching in front of her and pushing a curl from her face, taking the tv remote and switching it off in the process. She immediately stirred, frowning before her eyes fluttered open and settled on him.

"You're up," she croaked, moving to sit up. He pushed up slightly and sat on the coffee table, no more than a couple of centimetres between their knees “do – do you want something to eat? I went shopping-”

“I’m not hungry,” he insisted calmly, breathing in deeply and swallowing.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, clearly itching to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. He sighed and shrugged, glancing sideways at the evening sunset peeking through the blinds.

“I’m okay. I’m fucking exhausted and pissed off. But I’m alright, all things considered”

“I spoke to Harry about two hours ago. He says they’re done processing the evidence; it’s ready for you to look at when you’re ready. And your mother called. She sounded tired, but she gave her statement this morning. She was going to come and drag you out of your room tomorrow if you were still catatonic by then”

“Fuck,” he cursed, dropping his head to his hands, elbows resting on his knees, hands scraping through his hair “I hadn’t even thought about my mother. I’m such an idiot”

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head and reaching out finally, touching his forearm gently, ducking her head to meet his eyes “you’re just in shock”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, and she shuffled forward slightly so that their knees were touching, obviously wanting to say something but struggling to find the words, hesitating. Instead, he let his instinct take over and pressed their foreheads together, pursing his lips and focusing on composing his breathing. Her hands were holding his wrists softly now and they both closed their eyes, working through it silently, together.

“Granger, have you honestly not been home in the three days since it happened?”

“I – you need me here,” she says, moving her face back slightly, although there was still barely any space between them.

“I’m not an invalid,” he said, frowning and reaching up once again to tuck another ridiculous wayward curl behind her ear, his eyes searching her face.

“I know that. But I know you too, and I know when you need me, and now is one of those times”

He stared at her for a couple of seconds, before he smiled smally and he pulled her forehead to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss between her brows; it was just supposed to be innocent, a casual symbol of affection. But then he couldn’t – for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, eyes closed, pressing kisses down her cheeks, pausing for a single, deep breath at the corner of her mouth. Both of their eyelids were hooded heavily, the air thick and hot, resonating between them in a second that seemed to stand still, hovering on the cusp of something, heart racing where it thudded in his chest. He felt weak, completely possessed by the moment, by Granger’s hands where they now held his face either side, thumbs resting on his cheekbones, her touch almost static.

And then she moved her head to the side a millimetre, and caught his lips between her own, drawing in a hitched, deep breath as though she hadn’t been breathing at all before, as though neither of them had, both of them dropping forward on their knees numbly, their bodies pressed together by the limited space between the sofa and the coffee table, moving slowly, languidly, blood rushing through his veins, unable to process anything but the warmth of her full, chapped lips, the pressure of her waist against his, the way her hands scraped back to bunch in the back of his hair.

She was so soft, but so solid. So secure and strong and complicated. Fucking exquisite.

The heat became almost overwhelming as he opened his lips for a second, and her tongue slipped through, changing the angle so the kiss deepened and she whimpered slightly, the small noise sending everything rushing south, shooting through his body, drawing his hands to drag down from her hair, to her waist, nails grazing the skin of her hips, then up behind her back under her shirt, moving desperately slow, a guttural, quiet moan escaping his throat.

“We – we should stop,” she gasped slightly, breaking away for a moment, before she captured his lips again.

“Stop, then,” he breathed against her between kisses, and she whined slightly, pushing against him more insistently, apparently unable to follow her own suggestion, swallowing her own words. And then she was tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it in one smooth, gradual moment, upwards, her nails catching at the skin of his abdomen as she pulled it over his head, their breaths mingling.

“Okay?” she asked, his mental state entering her aroused conscious for a moment, requesting consent. He answered by pulling her against him again, ducking to press wet, hot kisses along the column of her jugular, her head dropping forward to his collar bone, biting her lip as he moved lower, removing her shirt for her in turn, and then her bra, unclasping it easily and discarding it sideways somewhere.

Continuing to kiss around her breasts, and down her stomach, around her ribs, he moved them quickly to lay on the sofa, delighting in the way her little noises got louder every time he deliberately avoided her nipples, teasing her, drawing a slightly salty sweat to the surface of her skin. Her legs hooked around his hips, ankles ducking under his knees, locking their bodies together, pushing against his groin more demandingly as he finally took one of them between his lips, drawing it out, feeling it hardening under his tongue.

Every touch of her hands, every one of her shaky breaths tickled his skin, every time she caught his skin between her teeth, he felt himself getting a little more desperate, and a little less coherent. Eventually, she growled low in her throat and reached between them, unhooking his belt and fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans whilst he mirrored her movements, tugging her jeans down her hips and rubbing his thumb over her clit gently, slowly, still pressing kisses on her pulse point before sucking the skin between his teeth and blowing slightly.

He jerked and moaned loudly against her collar bone when she finally got a hold of him, her grip confident, although slightly intoxicated and unfocused. It was even worse when she started moving, slowly, firmly, and soon he could barely concentrate on anything but his fingers moving gradually inside her, his thumb continuing to rub her clit, wet and hot and so fucking ready.

“For the love of god,” she cursed against his ear, biting hard on his neck “get on with it”

And he absolutely did not need telling twice.

* * *

 

She returned to work the following Monday morning, dressed in a dark blazer, a white blouse tucked into black high wasted skinnies, and black riding boots. She felt rejuvenated, a fuel pumped into her step, as she strode through the entrance hall only to be confronted with a throng of reporters and camera flashes.

“Okay!” she pressed her want to her throat, magnifying her voice to catch the press’ attention “gather around!”

She drew in a deep breath as they organised themselves in a bustling semi-circle. She gripped the post-mortem files in front of her securely, tucking her wand back into its sheath on her hip, hands steady as a rock, a professionally sombre expression settling into her features.

“At approximately 11am CUST on Saturday, Lucius Malfoy’s body was found in Italy. The details of the incident, are, until further notice, unattainable to the general public with respect to the privacy of the Malfoy family at this trying time, and to ensure that ongoing investigations and inquiries can be carried out with a decorum of precision and professionalism”

She watched the quick quotes quills going a mile a minute, floating parchment almost steaming as she kept her chin high and her demeanour neutral.

“Miss Granger, are you treating this as another murder with regards to the recent serial killer sweeping the streets of London, leaving messages carved into the bodies of the victims?”

Another influx of noise came at her, a small wall of sound hurting her ears for a moment, before she called for quiet again.

“We are considering this death as another in the string of recent killings, yes. But at this time, we are unable to confirm for definite, and are still requesting that the public help us with our inquiries where possible. Please rest assured, we are doing everything we can to bring this perpetrator to justice. Thank you, and good morning,” she spoke, quirking her lips upward in a polite smile before stepping through, a few security guards intervening so that they didn’t swallow her up, allowing her to continue walking brusquely through the glass double doors, along three corridors, and into the elevator that would take her up to their office.

She nodded her thanks at their secretary’s condolences, as she ordered the delivery of another load of files to review, including all the statements they’d collected, manoeuvring her body around the door and closing it behind her with her coffee and paperwork in both hands.

She sighed deeply and went to sit behind her desk, bending to open the bottom drawer and taking out a brand new evaluation of the week’s events. She sat back up, fanned the parchment out on her desk and took the lid off her ink bottle.

At that point, the fire place roared with bright green flames and Malfoy stepped out, if possible, more pale than usual, and with dark circles rimming his eyes, mixed with a soreness that told her he’d been crying, even since she had left his place to go home and sleep in her own bed.

“Morning,” she greeted, raising her eyebrows slightly. She had not expected him to be in that morning, and had even advised him on taking a week or two out of work, as one of his little quirks was that he always tended to expect more out of himself emotionally than he could actually give.

“Morning,” he replied dully, settling himself into the chair opposite her and shrugging out of his coat, pulling some notes towards him ready to start working.

“I wasn’t expecting you. I did tell you not to come in”

“Surprise, I don’t always do what I’m told”

“I know that. But – are you sure? The evidence file is on its way here now, and the pictures are rather… graphic”

“This is my job, Granger. I’ve looked at thousands of other mutilated dead bodies, this one doesn’t need to be any different”

"Remus came over this morning and gave me those letters and we have an appointment to speak with Kingsley this afternoon to discuss what to do next," she informed him, letting it go for the moment.

“Do we have Spence coming in to look at the penmanship?”

“Yeah and he’s going to map out the attacks as well, see if we can hone in on a round-about location… Are we going to talk about this?” she broke away from the conversation to sit back in her chair and observe him, an air of confidence and curiosity to her stance.

“About what?” he asked, looking at her overly fearless façade, his lips twitching a little as he gave her his full attention.

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that we had sex three times in the last twenty four hours?”

“What is there to talk about?” he raised one eyebrow.

“Where that leaves us professionally and socially”

“Well I’m sure we’re both mature enough not to let this affect our work. Would you like to keep having sex?”

“You’re teasing me. You think this is funny,” she observed.

“Not particularly. Forgive me if my mind is occupied with other things at the moment”

She paused again for a second, meeting his eyes, before sighing, swallowing and nodding.

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry, but this is kind of significant, and I feel like if we don’t talk about it, it will cause problems”

“What do _you_ want, Granger?” he asked, wetting his lips and sitting back. He looked thin, sleepy, resigned. She wondered if he’d been to see his mother yet.

“I’m not sure. I – I suppose, we’ve been skirting around this for a while now, haven’t we?”

“If you’re asking me if I’ve had feelings for you for longer than just twenty four hours, then yes”

She swallowed and ducked her head slightly, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear before nodding and standing, walking around to him and holding out her hands to him. He took them softly, getting to his feet in front of her, her thumbs gently stroking his knuckles.

“I don’t know what this is. It could be something very messy and complicated. It could be something we’ve been looking for for a long time. It could be nothing” she said, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and dropping his hands, wrapping her arms around his neck. It took a moment, but his arms then went around her waist tightly, burying his face in her collarbone. She could feel his slightly elevated heart beat against her chest, hating the pain he was so obviously battling with, turning her head to kiss his pulse point, turning back and holding him tighter.

“I think we owe it to ourselves to find out”

"Miss Granger,” the secretary interrupted, slipping her head around the door “sorry, but you just got a call in from the DMLE; Malfoy Manor was broken into last night”

* * *

 

"Tell me you got something for me," she said, fed up, stepping over several CSIs sweeping the floor for clues, entering the bedroom, a tired and forlorn expression gracing her face.

"Hermione, looking ravenous as usual. Do I get a thank you shag if I tell you I have something you'll love?" Dean turned to acknowledge her with a smile and a wink.

“Nice try. Lacking in subtlety. Keep trying though-”

“Please don’t,” Draco drawled, cutting across her as he followed her into the room, standing casually in her personal space, his hand resting in the small of her back. She smirked and wet her lips, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“What have you got, Thomas?”

"It's just like all the other scenes. No sign of forced entry, no signs of struggle, no signs the sadistic bastard touched anything apart from the wall. But there is one thing missing…" he trailed off a little as if he was asking her to finish his sentence.

“There’s no body,” Draco filled in for him, and Dean nodded.

"We searched the whole manor and there is nothing at all to indicate that the unsub actually did any killing this time. But, we have found that this message was written with blood. Dragon’s blood on someone's fingertips. We ran a whole print check on every letter and we came up with something. We couldn't find anything on all the other messages because the unsub had sandpapered and superglued their prints from the tips of their fingers. After a while though, glue melts with sweat and body heat and the prints grow back. Now it seems someone's been a little careless and left something for us. It doesn't match with any of the photocopies we've got on site of everyone related to this case that we have in custody now. This means that we have the unsub’s print. We just have to figure out whether the unsub _meant_ to leave it and is fucking with us, or whether he actually is becoming impatient with getting your attention properly”

"Isn’t he hot when he’s clever?" all three of them looked up to see Narcissa Malfoy lent casually against the door frame, smirking at Dean.

"Cissa, how are you holding up?”

“Better,” she nodded at Dean, holding her arms out to her son. Draco went to her, immediately hugging her before pulling back slightly, a frown knitting his brow as he took her face in his hands and searched it for injury or distress.

Hermione had always admired Cissa’s beauty. The lines highlighting the soft skin around her blue eyes told of her horrific past, but held a determined pride. Her skin was pale as ever and her hair a silky white blonde, her body thin and softly curved. She radiated with quiet confidence and feminine empowerment.

“Mother, don’t you think you should put some clothes on?”

She was dressed in a simple black silk night dress and a dark green, silk dressing gown that was tied very loosely around her tiny waist.

“It’s half past eight in the morning, Draco, I have a right to wonder around my own house with my bed clothes on. My life does not stop at one of many psychopath’s pathetic attempt to scare me," she replied.

"How are you feeling?" he asked and she narrowed her eyes a little, standing up with her hands on her hips.

“Alright. As good as I can feel when my husband was murdered last week, and the bastard who killed him broke into my house last night, and wrote on my bedroom wall in blood while I was asleep,” she sighed, smiling at Hermione as she walked past him, pressing a kiss to her cheek and standing with her hands on her hips, staring up at the wall.

“Mother, we’re going to catch them”

“I have no doubt. The two of you are unstoppable together”

Hermione swallowed and pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Draco coughed and she stepped on his foot discreetly.

“Good thing it’s strictly professional, of course. Hermione, would you stay here with me tonight? I find myself in need of some… what do they call it? Girl time”

“Of course, Mrs Malfoy. I’ll come over after work”

“Would you bring a-”

“Lemon cheesecake and a bottle of red”

“You keep this one, Draco, she’s wonderful”

“Mother, please”

“Oh don’t be dramatic. Oh, and, darling, before I forget, call the funeral directors back; they’re going to need you to move some money around from the off-shore accounts”

“I don’t know why we need to spend so much; it’s not like there will be many people there”

Hermione stepped on his foot hard again and he clenched his jaw, swallowing tightly and drawing in a deep breath through his nose, smiling at his mother.

“You’d be surprised. Lots of people want to go to pay their respects. Of course, it’s all about business relations and securing investments, but I like to think the sentiment is there”

“Mother, you hate sentiment,” he snorted.

“Not when it involves money. And this involves a lot. So be a good boy and move it to the Romanian account please”

“What the bloody hell have we ordered in from Romania?”

“The table places for the wake, of course. And the roses. Honestly, men. Dean, I have your word that I’ll have my house back by the time I’ve bathed and gotten dressed?”

“On my life, Mrs Malfoy,” he winked at her and she blew them a kiss, leaving finally, a privately solemn expression settling into her features.

* * *

 

“Holy shit!" Hermione jumped in surprise as she walked into her living room in just her bath towel to find Ron Weasley appearing in her fireplace. She gasped, clutching her chest and breathing deeply. He stepped onto her carpet, looking somewhat better than she thought he'd be at this stage, and she felt a bit better too.

"I wanted to see you. I can still do that, right?" he asked, staying stood exactly where he was. His face was less tense than it had been at the reunion when she'd last seen him, before he'd been brought in for questioning. He'd been released without further charge of course but she knew he'd been pissed off with her for considering him as a suspect. He was happier now though, she could see that. His hair looked healthier and he seemed to have been working out more than ever.

"Have you been on holiday?" she asked randomly and he immediately looked sheepish and squirmy.

“About that. I might have done something a bit stupid”

"What did you do?" she inquired firmly with a tired sigh, gesturing for him to sit down. She perched on the coffee table in front of him.

"Well… I was in a really bad place after you left and then there was that thing with the hair and Romilda and I was just so angry at everyone. I went to Ibiza with a couple of mates. I got a bit drunk, got into a bar fight, might have fucked up this guy’s jaw…”

"I thought you weren’t drinking?” she exclaimed.

"I know it was stupid, and I need to stop. Which is why Harry got me out on a caution and I'm going to this alcoholic meeting thing every few weeks," he informed.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," she whispered a moment later, as couple of tears spilled down her cheeks without her even knowing they were there. This was the first time she’d seen him since she had slammed the door behind her on their relationship, and she was very emotional.

“I – I should have helped you, instead of leaving. I should have helped you get better”

“Hermione, there was nothing you could have done if I didn’t want to help myself. And it was better for us. In the long run, it was better. You know I’m right”

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut tightly before opening them again and looking him directly.

“I swear. I swear I was in love with you to begin with. I loved you so much. I wanted to feel like that again so badly, but I couldn’t make it happen. I just – I just didn’t feel like that anymore. I don’t know if it was Egypt, or my injuries, or work. But… I’m sorry. I tried”

“But I didn’t. I didn’t try, and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t okay. We weren’t in love anymore,” he told her.

“We – we’ll always be friends right?" she asked, swallowing again.

"Always. But, uh, you gotta explain about this place. What is going on?”

“Malfoy helped with the designs. It’s minimalist”

He scowled at the mention of Malfoy’s name, and she tried to ignore it, knowing that Ron had been tormented by him just as much as she had as a teenager. And he had not been exposed to his new attitude like she had.

"Go get dressed and give me a tour,” he said pointedly and she popped up, remembering at that point that she was still in one of the towels Narcissa had embroidered for her as a birthday present.

"Make yourself a cuppa; the kitchen's just through there," she pointed to the door on the far side of the room as she left to go upstairs.

* * *

 

"I'm not going to go running back to him. We even agreed that it was the best choice I could have made. It was a conscious uncoupling," she told him as she perched on her desk in a light blue blouse tucked into another high wasted black pencil skirt that came to just below the bottom of her thighs, complete with her usual black stilettos.

"You better not, Granger. I'll have to get your head examined. Anyway, this piece of paper that I grabbed from the archives; it’s a letter," he said, sparking her interest as she jumped off the desk and came around his to lean over his shoulder.

"When you are reading this, I will be long gone.

A couple of months ago, I was approached by a man asking me for information. The bonds placed on me restrict me from telling you anything too significant about him but I can say that these murders you are experiencing all these years later have been very carefully planned and are not at all random; the only thing careless about this are the people picked to carry it out. In finding this letter, however, please now be assured that you are on the right track. Congratulations.

Despite what you may have heard about me, I am not a monster. Or, at least, I wasn’t to begin with.

As you have most likely already assumed, you are looking for a meticulous psychopath; someone who is precise and skilled in masquerading as a socialite, an extrovertly orientated individual. They will also have injected themselves, at some point, into the investigation, and get off on watching you struggle and grab at strings. Such a killer is obsessive in the planning of their operations; the best way to anger them or get them to act out, is to force them out of their comfort zone. Quite frankly, make a mess.

Good luck.

Yours sincerely,

Orion Black"

"Well,” he concluded, turning his head to look her in the eyes, smirking slightly “I think our trip was rather successful, Granger, don't you?"

* * *

 

"Thank you for this, Mrs Malfoy, you really didn't have to," Hermione smiled warmly.

"It's no problem. And how many times do I have to tell you? It's Cissa”

“Of course. I’ll try to remember”

“I haven't seen you in a little while, where have you been?"

Hermione, though usually nervous in Narcissa’s presence, enjoyed her company, and respected her greatly, if not for what she had achieved and endured through the years, for how intelligent and strong willed she was. It to have someone who was confident enough not to constantly tiptoe around her feelings or worry about saying the wrong thing.

"I was… otherwise engaged,” Hermione said, sighing and sitting back in her chair.

“Ah. Egypt. I have never seen Draco work so hard on a case before, he barely slept the whole time he was looking for you”

“I had noticed. I suppose he would rather me think he doesn’t care, but he’s not as good of an actor as he would have people think,” Hermione remarked. Narcissa laughed slightly, nodding and getting more comfortable, tucking her legs up under her chin.

“How is the case going?”

“Uggh, awfully. Every time we think we’re getting somewhere, we hit a brick wall”

“Well you’ll get there. You always do; the two of you have half the cells in Azkaban filled with your criminals”

“That’s what I’m worried about. We have a lot of enemies. It could be any one of them, and they could be targeting you and Draco-”

“Hermione,” Narcissa stopped her, reaching out and taking her hand “you don’t need to worry about us. We’ve been through hell and back. It will take more than some writing on a wall to frighten me”

* * *

 

Hermione rubbed her temples softly, head in her hands, the tracks of much calmer tears sticking to her face. She slammed her fist down on the table with a noise in between a growl and a sob. Her watch read three o'clock in the morning and she was still in the office. Malfoy had gone home four hours previous and she was now just repeating herself over and over.

She was reading through the letters that Remus had found.

‘Dear brother,

Everything is moving rather swiftly on over here and I believe that our back up may just be our most genius yet.

It will be our selection of course, that will bring down the whole of the muggle and muggle born society along with all half-breeds, squibs, and half-bloods. It will be as we always pictured. Voldemort is a mere inconvenience and has no real idea what he is doing. Dumbledore will be a problem of course and that stupid prophecy predicts an equal to Riddle, but that will not be an immediate issue.

Again, I would like to stress the importance of your involvement. Your blood line is crucial to this. By then, there will be a trio guarding a filth filled world.

You remember to pass this on to your son, of course, and he to his. Whomsoever this task falls upon, cannot falter or question; they must be an impeccable actor.

The target is the Malfoy boy. The Malfoy boy will fall.

Good luck.’

None of them were signed with Orion’s name, it seemed he’d had somewhat of a change of heart before he had died, and the entire story dated back about three generations of pureblood blood supremacy, a meticulous plot to manipulate the following generation of purebloods into carrying out the work they were told was their ‘birth right’. She had not quite figured out yet, how anyone could have predicted that the Malfoy family would repent following the death of Voldemort, at least forty years before it had happened. It was maddening.

Every letter was much like this, and it was becoming clearer that Draco was the fixture throughout, the one thing that every single one had in common. ‘The Malfoy boy’. And she had long since noted that it was a running theme. It made her very anxious, and more than ever, she felt the need to protect Draco.

There had been Aurors swapping shifts to watch his house twenty four seven but it didn't matter anyway; he only went there on the odd occasion that he would actually sleep. In which case, he would dose himself up on some strong dreamless sleep potion and lose himself for five stolen hours here and there. What amused her, was that he thought he was concealing it from her, that she wouldn’t smell the potion on his breath whenever she actually let herself in through the night and slipped in beside him. He still thought he could lie to her. It was adorable, really.

Thomson had taken to visiting her once a week to check that her own recovery was still on a fast track path, along with Blaise, who turned up to annoy them during office hours whenever he had a spare minute, clearly making sure that Malfoy was actually coping with the death of his father.

She was just starting to read the case file again, when she realised that she couldn’t focus, and decided to rest her head just for a moment, dropping it to the desk and wrapping her arms around her head. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

 

"Granger, wake the hell up”

She jerked awake abruptly, blinking to get used to the new lighting in the room, and Draco shrugging out of his jacket, lowering into his chair on the other side of her desk.

“What?”

“You fell asleep at work again. You keep doing that I’m going to have to hospitalise you or something”

“At least I don’t resort to drugs to pass out”

His eyes paused on hers, and she immediately regretted it, opening her mouth to apologise, but getting cut off.

“Right. Fine. You’re right. But I don’t like waking up to an empty bed if I don’t have to. So please, get your ass home tonight”

“I – I just woke up, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just… I feel like every second I’m not working is a second the unsub could be gathering momentum for their next kill,” she stressed.

He sighed and swallowed, wetting his lips and pushing a hot cup of coffee towards her.

“I know. But you’re no use to this case if you’re passing out left right and centre and not able to concentrate on anything because you’re so exhausted”

“I just want to catch this bastard… how are you not more furious? This guy murdered your father”

“I know that, Granger. I buried him last weekend. I’m not forgetting in a hurry”

She fixed him with a reproachful expression and he huffed, shrugging and sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just promise me that you’ll spend less time here at the office. Bring the work home if you have to. Do it in bed. Just-”

“Draco,” she smiled warmly, standing from her chair and moving to sit on his left thigh, wrapping her arms around him snugly and pressing a kiss to the top of his head “stop worrying about me. I’m alright”

After a few seconds, he sighed and gave up, threading his arms tightly around her waist in turn and relaxing against her, closing his eyes where his face rested against her chest, listening to her heart beat. Once they’d both calmed down a bit, she pulled back slightly and took his face in her hands, leaning forward and catching his bottom lip between her own, kissing him softly, intimately, smiling into it slowly. When she broke it, she pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, before pressing the little buzzer that activated the microphone going straight to their secretary's desk.

"Cassie,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes when Draco’s arms remained securely around her “please could you be a life saver and get me those files I asked Harry for please? Thank you”

"Mr Zabini intercepted your request for the files, Hermione. He left a message with Harry saying he would bring them over personally”

Draco groaned, burying his face in her collar bone.

"Charming,” a voice snorted from behind them and Hermione flinched so hard she almost fell out of Draco’s arms “I’m your best friend, you’re meant to be happy to see me”

“You are not my best friend,” Draco replied distastefully, although Blaise let himself in regardless, pushing Hermione out of Draco’s lap and seating himself there instead, grinning petulantly. Hermione glared at him as she got up from the floor, dusting herself off. Draco rolled his eyes and dug his finger in the bottom of Blaise’s spine. He let out a high pitched squeak and jumped up immediately, pouting.

“I see how it is. You two are fucking now – thanks for not telling me, by the way – and I’m getting replaced”

“You have files for me, Blaise,” Hermione said, holding her hand out at him. He sighed, but handed them to her, pressing a greeting kiss to her cheek in the process “and tell me what you’re doing here”

“Do I really need an excuse to come and visit this little train crash waiting to happen?”

"You either have some information for me, or you want me to square something illegal with the Wizengamot so you can import a crate of dubious cargo again. And I assumed Draco would have told you”

“I do not appreciate your tone. Also, he’s _your_ boyfriend, you should know how shit he is at keeping his friends updated by now”

"I know he’s shit at it, I just assumed you’d be the exception to the rule,” she said.

“We haven’t told _anyone_ yet. Granger hasn’t even told testicals one and two,” Draco replied

“Hey! Those are my best friends you’re talking about”

“Let’s not pretend that they don’t execute themselves with all the grace of two giant hairy ball sacks”

She glared at him fiercely, and even Blaise had the good sense to raise his eyebrows and drop his grin, clearing his throat awkwardly and swaying back and forth slightly on his heels, hands in the pockets of his Italian leather jacket.

“Blaise, what else did you come here for?”

He blinked himself back to his main point and nodded, gesturing for them both to sit down, taking his own seat in the chair beside Draco, a serious demeanour washing over his mannerisms. She frowned, exchanging a worried glance with Draco before looking back at Blaise, giving him her full attention.

"I’ve been getting phone calls with heavy breathing. Never anyone on the other side, just the breathing. Then yesterday I got another one. I recorded it actually," he said, flipping a small voice recorder out of his pocket and chucking it to her as she reached up and caught it easily.

"I’ll have Penelope run it through voice recognition,” she said gratefully, summoning one of the evidence bags from Draco’s desk draw.

“It just says three words. Malfoy must fall," Blaise said, and she swallowed, lowering her eyes and stiffening in her chair, a familiar anger heating her blood.

“Down, Granger,” Draco insisted, sitting back in his chair, appearing mildly concerned, but otherwise unaffected.

“Someone is threatening you. Someone has a vendetta against you that’s been building and operating for four decades, and you haven’t even known about it. Someone is murdering our friends and family and targeting you so systematically that we can’t predict what they’re going to do next. How am I supposed to be okay with that, Draco?”

“She’s right,” Blaise shrugged, sitting back in his chair and looking at him “you’re in way over your head here, and you don’t even seem to be that bothered by it”

“You think I’m not bothered by it? I’m terrified. I’m pissed off. I’m frustrated. But it’s not going to help anyone if I lose the fucking plot. It’s almost like you _want_ me to freak out and break down. Well I’m not going to, so you can both stop this bullshit routine and get the fuck over it. You two can do whatever you want, but I’m going to do my damn job, because that’s the only way this bastard is going to be stopped”

Hermione grit her teeth and bit her tongue, pushing the fire on her skin to the back of her mind and blinking it out. They’d talk about it later.

“Do you want extra security in place?” she asked Blaise abruptly.

“No. No, you’re already short-handed. My wards are secure anyway. I’ll get hold of you if there’s anything else that comes through”

“Right. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, actually. Speak to Weasley about your love life. He keeps glaring at me when I pick up your mail, he thinks it’s you and me that are fucking”

“Fuck sake. I thought I’d sorted this shit out with him. As if I’d touch you with a ten foot barge pole, I don’t know where you’ve been”

“That is highly offensive, but I’ll let you have it because you’re scary when you’re angry and I don’t want to argue with you right now. Granger,” Blaise nodded, bending over and pressing a parting kiss between her brows, extending the same gesture to Draco, but letting his hand linger on the side of his face, dropping his guard in a rare moment of un-slytherinness and looking him directly in the eyes.

“Please be careful. I can’t bury any more friends right now”

Draco sighed and nodded, rolling his eyes but curving his mouth into a soft smile as Blaise left and shut the door behind him.

“Are you going to shout at me?”

“No. I’m going to do my job”

“You think I’m right then,” he raised his eyebrows “about not letting the personal aspect of this unsub’s endgame fuck up my ability to compartmentalise and be professional?”

“No. I think you’re repressing, which isn’t doing your job, it’s bottling up emotions that will eventually surface and compromise your work ethic in a big and catastrophic way. But what do I know? I’m only your girlfriend, best friend, and closest colleague”

“Fuck you,” Draco snorted, growing increasingly angry with her as she continued to push him for an emotional response to the case. As though that was going to make anything better for anyone.

“Not at work, my insurance doesn’t cover the desks”


	6. Chapter 6

When he woke, it was still dark and stuffy, his consciousness barely aware of his body or surroundings; only of the warmth and softness of what was above and beneath him. It was only when he opened his eyelids to dry and scratchy pupils, that he clocked onto the unfamiliarity of the bedroom, and the faint scent of jasmine interwoven with the muskier smell of night-before angry sex, and sweat.

He sighed, turning his head sideways and frowning at her peaceful face where it was pressed against her pillow, mouth slightly open, mass of long dark afro curls falling about everywhere, brown skin flushed slightly with the heat of the room. She must have a timer on her thermostat or something. Either way, he liked this look on her. It was charming. In a… drooling, snoring, Granger sort of way. He had a sudden and strange urge to kiss the tip of her nose and stare at her for a really long time. Weird. This relationship bullshit was really messing with his head.

He knew they’d have to get up soon, that he’d have to wake her, that they’d have to shower and get dressed and get their morning coffee in the rain and then sit for another eight hours looking at pictures of his dead father and following useless threads. And he knew it was selfish and shitty, but he just wanted to stay like this. He just wanted to stay in her soft bed with her, naked, sleepy, and isolated from their problems, warm and narcotic and wrapped up in her body, kissing her neck and listening to her read out loud.

Eventually, he gathered the momentum to pull himself into a sitting position, standing up, stretching as his bones clicked back into place and his limbs rushed with blood, waking up, a small grin furling his lips as an idea rooted in his mind.

"I’m going to crush you!”

Her voice was muffled against her pillow as he yanked the duvet from the bed, leaving her bare. She growled and curled in on herself at the sudden chill.

“Get up”

He crossed his arms over his chest and admiring the curve of her ass.

“I don’t want to,” she grumbled defiantly, although now she peaked out from the shroud of her own arms, one eye open and very cross.

“You have to. We have work”

“We always have work,” she croaked, pouting.

“I know,” he replied, pouting back.

“Ten more minutes?”

“If you get in the shower with me I’ll make you come”

She stared at him for a few moments, considering him, before huffing and unshrimping, dragging herself upwards and crawling to the bottom of the bed where he was stood, fixing him with a grumpy, begrudging expression as she threaded her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, dropping their foreheads together.

“Good morning”

“Good morning,” he replied, amused, uncrossing his arms from his chest and wrapping them around her bare waist. She was always like this first thing. He’d expected her to be a busy body sort of person before they’d started dating, but she actually hated getting up and she usually dragged herself around like a clingy sloth for the first few hours of the day. It was adorable, but impractical, and although they were rarely ever late to work, she really liked to spread out their time in the mornings for as long as she could.

“I don’t want to move”

He rolled his eyes, reaching down to lift her legs around his hips. She grinned gratefully as he carried her to the bathroom, kissing her intermittently, despite her disgruntled expression at his morning breath.

She was in fact, too tired and out of it to bother with anything of the sex variety, so they showered in relative quiet. He washed her hair for her, because she liked it and always whined at him if he didn’t, and she draped herself around him at the bottom of the bath tub under the shower, doing the same for him. He had to admit, it was a nice way to see the day in, with a beautiful woman pressed against his back and soft fingers running through his hair, washing away the sleepiness and bringing him gently into the harsh reality of the daytime. It soothed his bad mood at least until lunch, when they usually ordered something from the canteen, always too busy or too caught up in reading to leave the office.

They dressed quickly, and took their time drinking their coffees at the local Starbucks, walking together through Hyde Park and watching the sun come up. Despite the rain and the bad weather, this was part of their morning routine because it was the only fresh air they got really. There was always somewhere for them to sit close together on the Thames in a companionable silence, until Granger finally looked at her watch and reminded him that they really needed to be going.

What they weren’t counting on, was the giant swarm of press waiting for them as they stepped through the fireplace at the ministry an hour later, a crowd that immediately tried to swallow them up, asking them frenzied questions about the case and… the nature of their relationship? Who the fuck had leaked that? Only Blaise and his mother knew about it and they’d only been together for a month or so.

He growled in frustration, glaring hard and threading their fingers together, tugging her forwards as she immediately became overwhelmed with the flashing lights and yelling journalists. It was proving ridiculously difficult to navigate through them though, and as he nearly lost his grip on her, he dropped her hand, his arm going around her waist instead, pulling them through the last of them.

“How did they find out?”

They stepped into the elevator, her hair slightly messy, eyes narrowed, panic in her voice.

“I suppose it was just a matter of time, you know they love a scandalous coupling. We spend all of our time together, it’s not a giant leap”

“This is really bad! Ron is going to kill me, and Harry is going to wring my damn neck!”

“My mother will be delighted. She’s been waiting for us to go public since before we were even together”

“I’m in so much shit”

She ran her hand through her hair and clearly trying to think of a way to lessen the impact it was going to have on her friendships. They’d been waiting to tell people for this exact reason. They wanted to be sure that it was even worth pursuing, and because if they did decide they wanted to be together long term, they wanted to tell their friends and family themselves. Now everyone was going to find out through the press. Fuck sake.

She was so preoccupied when they stopped, that he had to take her by the waist again and move her forward through the department towards their office. They went as fast as they could, ignoring the whispers of their colleagues and dirty looks.

“Cassie, divert all memos and calls for the next hour. Don’t let anyone in until I give the okay,” he told their assistant before closing the door behind them.

“This is a disaster! Ron is going to be so upset! He’s going to freak out and get all jealous and angry and then he won’t talk to me, and Harry is going to be furious! He asked me last month if there was anything going on between us and I denied it-”

“Granger,” he stopped her, taking her by the face, pausing her tiny breakdown and looking her in the eyes “calm down. Remember what we talked about?”

“But-”

“Granger”

“Fine. Sorry for being realistic about a difficult situation”

“Realistically, getting worked up isn’t going to help anyone. You know what will? Working”

She sighed, blinking at him a few times before nodding. He went to his own desk today, leaving her to sit behind her own, wetting her lips and slipping off her heels the same as she always did.

“Your mother wants you to check in with her later,” she said, apparently remembering that she was supposed to tell him.

“Oh?”

“I was supposed to tell you yesterday but Blaise turned up and then we got distracted”

He smirked at her and nodded, fanning out today’s files in front of him, sorting out his quill and leaning forward, pressing the buzzer.

“Cass, I need the results from that recorder Blaise brought in yesterday, and could you send Spence down later when he has a spare minute? I’ll need his professional opinion”

“Of course, Sir,” Cassie replied through the microphone “was there anything else?”

“I don’t think so”

“Would you like me to send out a quote to the news outlets? I’m assuming you’ll need me to ignore all calls and notify security to keep the press out of the department”

“Thank you”

He glanced at Granger and smiled, impressed.

“She is very good at her job, you know, I don’t know why you look so surprised”

“Yes, well, I’ll give her a Christmas bonus”

“She gets a Christmas bonus anyway”

She rolled her eyes.

“Well I’ll double it, then,” he tutted. A few minutes later, Cassie popped her head around the door and dropped the recorder on Draco’s desk, along with the evidence file and Blaise’s statement.

“No identifiable voice recognition”

He sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair and bringing the file up in his hand so he could still read it.

“Manipulation software was used. Spence made notes about the dialect. Most likely British, the syntax suggests a well-spoken person. Clearly most likely a wizard or witch; muggles aren’t aware of my family or my heritage. There’s no downticks of pronunciation or enthusiasm, all three words have a sharp tone, indicating an imperative and absolute order”

“Why Blaise, though? He’s your best friend. He’s the only one who keeps up with you. He’s looked after you when your parents weren’t able to. Why would the unsub think they have even the slightest chance of calling Blaise to rank?”

He shrugged, putting the file down on the table again and mulling it over. His thought process was abruptly interrupted however, when Potter came crashing into the room looking very flustered, barely awake and extremely angry.

Hermione jumped out of her skin and even skidded backward in her chair, panic spiking through her body.

"What the fuck, Potter?”

She’d already started to stand, trying to remain as calm as possible.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why do I have to find out from the flipping reporters as I come into work? Do I even need to tell you how unprofessional this is?"

Harry threw his arms up in the air and glaring between them.

“Potter-”

“It’s alright, Draco”

She cut across him as he moved to defend her, shaking her head at him once, and returning her attention to Harry.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry that you had to find out from the press. I wanted to tell you myself. Trust me, I had every intention of telling you all in person, where I could prepare you for it”

“That clearly didn’t go well for you,” Harry snapped, slapping his hand down on her desk in front of her. She refused to flinch again, becoming irritated now.

“No, it didn’t. But whilst my love life is apparently riveting and important in contrast to the mass serial killer sweeping London, I didn’t see it that way. I’ve been doing my job. Draco and I have only been seeing each other for a month, we were deciding whether it was going to be a full-time thing before we were making it public, because we wanted to be respectful of the situation we were already in with work and the tragedies we were working with”

“I’m your best friend, Hermione,” Harry insisted, still struggling to wrap his head around it.

“What’s your issue with this, Harry?”

“He’s – look, you work together. There are lives at stake”

“I’m fully aware of that, thank you. I can assure you that we have not let it affect our progress in the slightest. If anything its improved our work ethic. What’s your real issue with this?”

She raised her eyebrows at him and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew that face. He was upset for the wrong reasons, and grasping at straws to justify it.

"Potter, with all due respect, get your hands away from that desk before I rip them off!

Draco cut in, clearing his throat and sitting forward, jaw clenching slightly. She let her eyes flicker over to him for a moment, struggling not to let the fondness seep into her expression. She didn’t need him to threaten anyone on her behalf, but Draco was a naturally protective person, and it was nice to know that even after just a month, he was already extremely uncomfortable with people imposing negatively in her personal space or disrespecting her. To be honest, he had been that way for at least a year now. Their friendship was like that regardless of their romantic involvement. Which was why she was so sure of herself in it. Okay. Wow. That was her answer. She was sure. After a month, she was 100% sure.

"I have to remind you that I am your boss, Malfoy. Don't think I won’t fire you once this case is over if you put a single toe out of line”

“That won’t be necessary. Harry, if your problem is with Draco, I can assure you that it doesn’t impact my choice to be with him in the slightest. I’m with him, whether you approve of it or not”

“Hermione, be reasonable-”

“Don’t. Do not try that with me, Harry Potter. You trust me, I know you do. So exercise that, and trust that I know what I’m doing. This isn’t up for debate. I apologise that it came out this way, but my decision hasn’t been altered. I love you very much, but I will not allow you talk to me like I’m a child when I’m your colleague and equal”

He blinked at her for a few seconds before straightening back up, jaw tight, avoiding eye contact, shoulders dropping slightly in defeat.

“You’re sure?” Harry asked with a finality.

“I am”

She was hyper aware of the fact that this was the first time she’d said this out loud in front of Draco, and slightly breathless with the realisation.

“I’ll talk Ron down”

Harry sighed, wetting his lips. She nodded and moved to stand in front of him, smiling at him.

“I really am sorry that I didn’t get to tell you myself. I can come over tonight? I’ll explain it to you and Ginny properly”

“Just… don’t let it get in the way of the case, alright?”

“Potter, she’s already told you it won’t. And it won’t. Can we get on with our jobs now?”

Harry glared at him, but obliged, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek and leaving. With the sound of the door closing behind him, she let out a deep, shuddery breath, her arms curling around her own torso again, only in a much more reserved and hesitant way this time, swallowing as she turned to Draco, a small smile curving her mouth, her hands clammy with nerves. She was even more unsettled when she found him simply smirking at her with his eyebrows raised, hand on the side of his face, two fingers against his temple, two bent at the knuckle and pressed against his cheekbone, as though mildly amused by something.

“Well,” he remarked “that was annoying”

“Yes, you look so put out”

Her voice was still slightly shaky, still terrified that he was now going to decide the exact opposite to what she had done, that he was going to get scared and run away, and all that would have been for nothing.

“You look tense, Granger,” said Draco, and she became frustrated, narrowing her eyes at him.

“If you’re going to tease me I’m going to go and give the press an in depth description of your penis”

“Calm down”

He was still smirky, but was clearly unsettled, standing finally and moving in front of his desk, leaning against it, crossing his own arms over his chest casually.

“This morning we were just two people sleeping together. Now-”

“Granger, we were not just two people sleeping together. We were never going to be just two people sleeping together. Not with our history, or friendship, or our working relationship. Besides, I don’t know why you’re panicking, I thought I’d made it clear that I’ve been sure for about a week now”

“You did not make that clear!” she pointed at him, stepping instinctually into his personal space “you never said that you were sure”

“Granger, I’m not a naturally affectionate person,” he told her, getting that squirmy, uncomfortable look on his face that he got when he was letting his guard down “I know a relationship requires a certain level of personal exposure and emotional intimacy, but that’s not something that comes particularly easy to me”

“I know. I know that. I just wasn’t sure. Not until about two minutes ago”

“Well, I’m glad you’re done with your little internal conflict, can we get on with our work now?”

She huffed, exhausted by the day already, and fed up with how everything kept happening in overwhelming chunks of emotionally draining situations coalescing and confusing her. It was making her head messy. And she didn’t like having a messy head; she liked having everything categorised and neat and easy to sort through so she could deal with it the way she wanted to, not the way she was being forced to.

He rolled his eyes at her and tugged her forward between his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a peck to the tip of her nose.

“Stop freaking out. Take a deep breath, and focus”

She sighed and nodded, hugging him tightly for a few moments, letting the solidarity of his body ground her and get rid of the blurriness at the edges of her vision, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in. He smelt like her soap, and the candle she burned before they went to sleep every night, vanilla and jasmine. He was just so real to her, so supportive, so honest. It was nice, to have such an equal, common ground with someone she was romantically attracted to. It had been so difficult for her to find that with Ron towards the end of their relationship, she’d almost forgotten how good it felt.

“Okay,” she said, feeling slightly better as she pulled back “let’s get to work”

* * *

 

It was coming dangerously close to nine o'clock at night and they had fallen into the usual comforting and peaceful silence that had made them such good work partners for so long. The television was on just loud enough for them to hear easily and Granger was engrossed deeply in one of her far-fetched muggle dramas. Draco was briefly following the plot. Some woman had her baby die so she'd swapped it with her friend's baby in the cot.

Draco could not help but find it unrealistic and had lost interest when the mother of the baby that was alive had swallowed the lie, believing that her baby was dead. If something that precious was stolen, one would surely notice that it had been replaced. Especially something as dear as a three-day old child.

So he'd simply closed off the ramblings of East End accents as Granger lay comfortably against him on her sofa while he subconsciously played with her hair, curling it absently around his fingers loosely and letting his thoughts float undefined and undistinguished around his head.

He'd missed this. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he did. In the last year, when he'd had the time, he'd been bed hopping rather frequently. He’d simply been too mentally ill or too uninterested to bother with the upkeep of a serious relationship with any of them. So he was still trying to pin down what it was about Granger that had been the exception.

He liked her, that much was obvious. She was fiery and stubborn and difficult, but she was ridiculously intelligent and compassionate and good-natured. Without a doubt, he had no qualms that she was someone he clicked with and enjoyed the company of immensely.

It had just been a while since he’d been in a relationship where there was nothing burdening it. Well, nothing too bad anyway. Unless you counted his father and ex-girlfriend having been murdered by a blood supremist serial killer he was trying to catch with the help of his current girlfriend. Fuck.

When he focused back on Granger, she was sleeping, curled further into his body now. He gently manoeuvred them so he was in a sitting position and lifted them both upwards so he could carry her to her bedroom. As usual, she felt plush and warm against him, and he had come to accept that he knew she was special to him, because it wasn’t just sexual all the time. A force kind of pulled him to her and sought out her body heat just as a vice, something to assure him that he still had one good thing in his life, something real for him to hang onto.

He climbed in after her and settled himself against the pillows, rolling his eyes and smiling slightly when she immediately attached herself to him, ever the ridiculously beautiful limpet in bed, and tried to forget that he actually probably didn’t deserve her like this.

He hadn’t told her, but he really hated himself for all the things he'd done to her. He really didn’t know how she could forgive him. If someone had treated him like that when he’d been growing up, he would have held a grudge forever, and it really was fucking with his head. Because now things were changing again. What he thought he knew about the world was turning out to be a load of bullshit yet again; what he thought he knew about himself.

But he was distracted when she snuggled into him further and sleepily kissed his neck once, tightening her arms around his waist and nuzzling her cheek against his collar bone. He forced the guilt away and swallowed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, pressing his face against the top of her head, and letting her grip on him ground him enough for him to slip, at least for now, into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

Harry Potter woke abruptly at three o'clock on Saturday morning drenched in sweat and tears.

Breathing fast and quick, he failed to grasp at what he'd been dreaming about, struggling to focus on anything other than the hard, rapid beating of his heart beneath his rib cage, and the throbbing of his pulse against his jugular.

Black still blended with grey at the corners of his vision, his past remaining in the shadows, lingering, a cancer cell that was dormant and dead but would never leave; a reminder, a whisper, a memory, a burned photo.

 Ginny was still asleep, her hips and back moving in rhythm with her slow breaths as her bright red hair lay sprawled out in crimson shades on the white pillow, only just visible in the dark confines of their bedroom.

They lived in a flat on the outskirts of the river Thames but were scheduled to move into Grimmauld place as soon as Ginny was pregnant. Hermione was excited as hell about the fact that they were now officially trying for a child, geared up to be aunt of the year. Malfoy was not so enthusiastic.

Harry didn't like their relationship at all. He did not particularly enjoy the idea of his childhood enemy dating his best friend. He knew that was childish, because he actually liked Malfoy now, or at least, begrudgingly tolerated. He trusted him. He’d invested in him, after his trial, and it had paid off. He was a decent bloke, and Harry knew he’d be good to Hermione. It was just… strange. So fucking strange.

Ginny had smiled knowingly and simply stared at the TV when he'd charged into their living room ranting about it and he hadn't seen Ron since he'd told him.

When he’d seen Ron, he’d barely been able to say anything. His hands had balled into fists, his knuckles going white. He had just managed to calm him down enough to keep him from going after Malfoy and beating the shit out of him. Or much worse, yelling something so obscene at Hermione that he lost her forever.

He quietly got out of bed, going to the bathroom and splashing his face with water and going toilet. When he went back, Ginny was sat up waiting for him, still sleepy, but patiently smiling at him as he climbed back onto the mattress. She took his hands and brought them to her mouth and nodded at him, waiting for him to start talking.

It was an hour before they went back to sleep, but when he did, he felt much better.

* * *

 

"I've got some other people processing the letters to see if there's any hidden meaning or anything. I’m watching everyone around me, but that’s a very small list, and I trust the people on it implicitly. I have no idea who the unsub’s accomplice is," he told her, signing his name at the bottom of yet another refusal letter to a magazine requesting that they model their new leather wear as a couple.

Some of the sums of money they'd been offered were off the roof but Hermione did not want to encourage the public to talk about them too much. She just wanted to have as much of a normal relationship as she could with him.

There were still candids of them everywhere though; walking in the street, attending events, eating dinner at a café. There was one in particular that was printed for a good week and a half over all the tabloids, and as much at it pissed her off, she sort of liked the photo. In it, she was laughing against his chest with a champagne glass in her hand, her head resting in the middle of his collar bone, his chin tucked above her crown, smirking in amusement, one of his hands cradling the back of her head.

She’d looked very beautiful that night too, she remembered, in a dark red backless ball gown made from silk fabric to fall softly over her body, and around the floor slightly. And she’d worn her hair in dreads, ending near the bottom of her ribs, and despite the one article she’d publicly written a comeback to with regards to its racist comments about her choice of hairstyle, she hadn’t minded too much.

"If you come up with any possibilities, let me know so that I can slit their neck in their sleep”

He smirked at her, clearly not doubting for a second that she was completely serious.

“Don’t count on it, Granger. That bastard is mine when we get our hands on them”

They'd been together for about two months now, although it felt like they had been at it for the whole time they had known each other. He continued to be unnerved by how enthralled he always seemed with her presence, by how quickly she had become such a large and frequent part of his life, and how insistently protective she was of him. She checked his wards every time she left his house, ordered extra security to watch his building, and became a lot more suspicious of his friends.

Of course, that was expected serial killer or not; they had treated her like shit on their shoe at school, and he knew she was rightfully sensitive to racist microaggressions against both her skin colour and blood type. He admired that she refused to be talked down to, and he absolutely supported that attitude in her. From the life she had led under the thumb of both vague and outright systematic oppression, she had the right to be weary of the way people addressed her, and to demand the respect she was worthy of.

Of course, the weather wasn’t ideal when it came to his frustration and bad mood, and the rain had subsided into snow, causing a national uproar. Really, for a country so prone to shitty weather, he’d have thought they’d be prepared for a bit of snow. Granger had found it very annoying that there were no gritters in wizarding society and although they spent most of their time in the muggle world, there were the few areas dotted around London that were almost completely inaccessible and inconveniently closed off.

* * *

 

It was a clear, dark night and the stars were set perfectly next to the bright moon, the exact definition of divine proportion. It was bitterly cold, the absence of body heat in the abandoned, broken down muggle alley way just made it even more unbearable for the one human presence stood simply and totally still, slap bang in the middle. His tall, muscular frame was hidden well underneath his shapeless cloak and the large hood shielded his face from view, protecting his identity.

He was unnaturally stone like. To any normal person walking passed, it would have appeared that the man did not even have a pulse. It didn't matter, the thoughts in his head were unimportant compared to the orders he was about to give.

Almost as if on cue, another cloaked figure appeared at the other end of the alley and walked brusquely towards its leader, no haste in its step whatsoever.

"I'll cut the pleasantries if you don't mind. Malfoy is falling in love with Hermione. It’s working. She’s going to be out of the scene tomorrow afternoon. It is time”

"Very well. I shall call you when I am ready," his accomplice replied, before disappearing once more, leaving the alleyway empty again.

* * *

 

"Hermione”

A voice made her flinch furiously on her way to the bathroom, squinting furiously and still half-asleep through the minimal light streaming through the windows.

“Ron?” she frowned, totally nonplussed and still terrified from his unexpected interjection “its three in the morning, how the bloody hell did you even get in?”

“Your floo is still open to me. We need to talk”

“Merlin, Ron,” she sighed, still squinting to see through dry eyes. She reached for the light switch and flicked it on, grimacing at the sudden influx of brightness against her retinas “this is completely inappropriate”

“You’ve been avoiding me. You’re the one being inappropriate. Not to mention a fucking coward”

“Alright,” she hissed, tutting at him and hoarding him into the living room “alright, jesus this is ridiculous. I can barely see anything”

“Malfoy? Really? Malfoy?”

“My love life is none of your business. Particularly not at three in the damn morning”

 "We were getting married Hermione! Of course it’s my business," his voice was slightly louder this time and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Granger?"

A sleepy voice called from her bedroom upstairs and Ron's eyes widened with even more anger as she sighed deeply and walked to the doorway leading off to were the call had come from.

"Its fine, love, go to sleep. I'll be up in a minute”

“Who’s down there?”

“Don’t worry, I can handle it. I’ll shout if I can’t”

"You’re whoring yourself out to a Malfoy, Hermione”

That stung. It was misogynistic and rude and disrespectful. And she hated being wrongfully disrespected.

“You’re drunk and upset. You need to go home and sleep it off-”

“Fuck you!”

He shouted this time, looking a mess again. His face was shadowed with ginger stubble and he looked exhausted and too thin. He was slurring some of his words, and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot “I’m fine. You’re the deluded one”

“Ronald,” she spoke harshly now, her patience wearing thin, much more awake “leave”

“No”

He spat with a hatred that churned her gut and brought stinging tears to her eyes. She refused to let them fall however, and blinked them away, swallowing the lump in her throat and straightening up. This was all too reminiscent of their relationship just before she’d left him. He would come home stinking of booze, clearly inebriated and very upset. He’d say a lot of awful things that he didn’t mean, but carried a lot of weight, and she would scream back because as much as she loved him, she couldn’t let him treat her that way and get away with it. But she was so tired of doing this with him. This exhausting, pointless dance. He was clearly still very mentally ill and not at all himself.

“Weasley,” Draco’s voice came from the doorway and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, know that this would do the situation no good “what the fuck are you doing here at this incorrigible time in the morning?”

“Look at this. This is fucking adorable. Lover boy come to your defence, hmm? Not that long ago he was yelling racist slurs at you”

“Ron, that was four years ago”

“What, you think he can change?”

“You have”

She spoke so crisply, so solidly, that he actually took a step back, eyes widening, lips parting a crack. She was done with the excuses.

“Hermione-”

“You’re ill, Ron”

Her voice was cold, jaw tight, looking him straight in the eyes.

“And you need to help yourself. I have tried, and failed. But this is unacceptable. You can’t turn up at my house in the middle of the night and insult me and think you are justified in doing so. I love you, but I will not let you talk to me like that. Now leave. I won’t tell you again”

He stared at her breathlessly, hitching in his throat as he looked back and forth between them, more tears falling wordlessly from his eyes. Then he swallowed as though he was gulping back bile, and nodded once, stonily, and turned, grabbing the powder, throwing it into the fireplace, and stating his home address.

The flames roared and swallowed him up, and the second he was gone, she let out a deep breath and dropped down on the sofa, shaking quite violently and pursing her lips together, desperately trying not to cry.

“Did I – did I do that to him?”

She blinked furiously. Draco forced his anger to the back of his mind and attempted to compose himself, moving to sit beside her.

“He’s just a total asshole. You did nothing wrong”

“I tried. I tried to help him. Harry told me he was getting better, that he wasn’t drinking. I can’t help thinking-”

“No, don’t blame yourself, Granger, you’re smarter than that”

“He’s ill. He doesn’t know what he’s saying”

“Yes he does. Being mentally ill doesn’t give you a free pass to be a shitty person. I know that better than anyone, Granger. It’s a reason, but it’s not an excuse. And it’s not okay”

She sniffed, processing his words, head hung slightly. His hand rubbed softly and slowly up and down her back in a soothing motion as she got herself under control.

“Is that – Granger, is this what I used to make you feel like? In school, is this what I used to do to you?”

“Draco, don’t do that to yourself-”

“Granger, be honest”

“Look, I know you’ve been torturing yourself about our history, doing the whole YA brooding thing about feeling guilty, like you don’t deserve me and all that bullshit, and you’ve been holding back and trying to guard yourself. I’m not going to make excuses for the way you behaved at Hogwarts. You were a racist asshole and you made my school life hell for me. That’s not something I’ll ever deny or forget. But what’s really important to me, is the way you make me feel now. Now, you’re my best friend. Back then, our situation was different. We were young and you were stupid. But we’re better now. I love you, _now_ ”

His eyes widened and his mouth opened as though he should say something, but his tongue felt numb and his heart felt as though it had stopped in his chest, his blood rushing suddenly warm and electric and terrifying. But it wasn’t – it wasn’t a bad feeling. Not even a little bit bad. Very, very good in fact. It was completely surreal.

Three months. Ninety days. Twelve weeks. He’d only been kissing her and holding her hand and sleeping with her body clutching his for three months. But… fuck, he already felt like the world would stop if it was snatched away from him. If he lost her, if he lost… this, whatever it was, he would crash and burn. He couldn’t bare it. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Fuck.

“You’re adorable when you’re speechless”

She grinned at him and he shut his mouth abruptly, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Give me a break, Granger, you just dropped a fucking bomb on me. Let me process”

“I suppose you’re right, it is the middle of the night and we’ve been working all week”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything”

She smiled at him softly, taking his hands in her lap, leaning forwards and pressing a lingering, self-sure kiss to his lips.

“I just want to say that I love you, and I know I’ve been a bit crazy with the whole protective thing since we figured out that the unsub is targeting you, but-”

He cut her off, kissing her again, catching her top lip between his own, taking her face in his hands and smiling into it, closing his eyes and letting that familiar sensation of bliss wash over him, that warmth, that natural, instinctual emotion that had settled so quietly into his veins of late, that he’d barely even realised that it was there.

“Granger,” he said, breaking away slightly and dropping their foreheads together “shut up. You know I love you too”

“Well, yeah, it’s just funny watching you trying to figure it out”

* * *

 

He was re-reading all their notes from the past four or five months as he lay out on her sofa. Granger was still asleep upstairs and it was considerably early in the morning; last time he'd checked the clock, it had read 2AM and that had been about five hours previous.

He came across a small newspaper cutting showing Granger being guided through the crowd by himself, and Thomson following closely behind them. It had been taken on the day of their arrival after he’d brought her back from Egypt.

Thomson appeared barely affected, and actually, he looked quite relaxed and in his element. Incongruous to his usual dislike of publicity, he wasn’t angry, annoyed, or tired as would have been expected.

From what he knew, Thomson was normally calm unless insulted or rattled purposely, at which point the person talking to him would find themselves rolling around on the floor sporting broken ribs. Thomson also loathed the press. He hated everything to do with them. So Draco found it particularly strange that he looked so relaxed.

He sighed, realising he was wondering over pointless things again, and moved the report aside to view a picture of the writing on Cho's living room wall. The dark red letters made his skin crawl and he felt bile churning in the pit of his stomach. But he forced himself to look closer at the part of the room visible to him.

He scanned the walls for any further clues or markings and nothing occurred to him. Then, he let his eyes wonder over the floor and found the rug pushed over at the edge like someone had scuffed it while walking passed it. Then, something clicked into place. Suddenly, anxiety flooded his blood and looked sideways down at Granger’s rug in real time, seeing it scuffed over just like the one in Cho's lounge.

He had visited them just last night, and Granger was always telling him to stop tripping over the damn rug because it ruined the fabric. His stomach stared tingling again and his fingertips felt numb. It couldn't be; he would have seen it coming right? He – no, it couldn’t be.

He flicked fast through the pages, sitting up and grabbing the ones from the coffee table as he found the document he was looking for. A revoltingly chatty letter wishing Granger a fast recovery and a brief update on what was going on down in his own department. He had always disliked the attention the guy gave Granger, and it always made him uncomfortable, the way he looked at her unabashedly, even when Draco was present.

The problem was, the way the T was written and the way the P's had been rounded all matched up to the message on Chang's wall. Then he flicked through again to find the black family tree had Potter send them. His finger traced fast over about ten different branches before he came to the last one possible for any link to the unsub, and the child seemed to be removed; blacked out on the photocopied parchment.

He stopped himself though, knowing he was getting carried away and caught up in the conclusion he had jumped to. He stood up and sprinted up the stairs, rushing fast into her room and grabbing the doorway in momentary shock when he registered the gaping empty space in her bed. He noticed a note on her pillow immediately picked it up.

'Draco,

I've gone out to the manor to have breakfast with your mother; she's not having a very good morning. I'm going to go and pick up some more notes from the office and then I'm having a few drinks with Percy and Bill later.

Love, Hermione'

* * *

 

Suddenly, he felt alone. Like the house was completely empty. It was, really, apart from himself and that damn fur ball she called a cat downstairs.

That was when it occurred to him that the wards were still open. He sprinted across the bedroom, apparating into her living room as the stairs seemed too long for such an important tiny trip.

He was just about to reach for his wand on the coffee table, when a thick arm threaded around his middle from behind. He kicked out and yelled loudly, but the arm tightened and a hand slapped hard over his mouth, fingers evenly close together so he couldn’t bite down.

"Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit, or I’ll slit your damn throat on the spot”

A painfully familiar voice spoke against his ear, and it was only when a knife was pressed to his jugular that he reluctantly obeyed, stilling, frustrated with the way it stung his pride. The arm was bruising his ribs already, and for the first time in a long time, he felt utterly powerless.

He no longer tried to thrash, but kept his head up, stretching his neck to keep the pressure from the knife from cutting into his skin. He had been in this situation countless amounts of times but for some reason, this one really bothered him. This one hurt the most because he was very aware that someone he had formally trusted was threatening to take his life slowly and painfully. He growled when is feet were kicked from under him, coaxing a strangled cough of pain and anger from his vocal cords.

"I fucking trusted you”

Draco hissed, pissed off at how his ankle was out at an odd angle and was hurting like hell. A hand collided with his jaw and he swore loudly, spitting blood out on the carpet, trying to push up on all fours only for a foot to stamp him back down again, bruising his spine this time, face pressed against the floor.

"Your father always told you not to trust anyone, Malfoy. You were just too fucking stupid to take his advice”

"You're not the leader”

He sensed a hint of vulnerability in the young man's demeanour, the kind of vulnerability that only came from carrying out commands.

"I will be when this is all over. But you need to behave, or I’ll kill her too”

Draco felt something shift then. Something in his head flicked on and his jaw tightened, pure fury speeding through his veins, a growl on the cusp of his every breath as the attacker crouched near his head.

“That's the difference between our team, and Voldemort. He shut himself off and closed off all redeeming emotions, hence making himself an easy target. We can love and that is one of the things that makes us most powerful, so I’m avoiding hurting her. She’s important to me. So I will not be killing you either… yet”

“Then you don’t know a damn thing about her, because she’d kill you on the spot if she knew you’d even laid a fucking finger on me”

"Fuck you. You don’t get to talk”

Draco knew it was coming in the second it happened, and closed his eyes tight shut to try and contain it.

“Crucio”

He grit his teeth tight as the white hot agony flooded his body, scraping up and down every nerve, every muscle, every vein, pounding and rushing around his head, setting his skin on fire, drawing a cold sweat to the surface. His face filled with red, gargling sounds escaping his lips with the effort not to scream until his vocal cords wept blood, limbs seizing. His skull felt like it was going to implode.

And then it stopped.


End file.
